Faithless
by homeric
Summary: A scout with nothing to lose, a country on the brink of civil war and an enemy that cannot be fought with mortal weapons. Probably not the best time to fall in love...
1. Chapter 1

**Dislaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

**A/N : This a kinda, sorta, sequel to "Llynya's Song", but you don't need to have read that to understand this (I hope!) , Llynya's just a supporting character. This is a Tristan/OC fic and will get a little bit AU as it goes along, so I hope the purists among you forgive me! Set just before the film. As ever comments and criticism are very much appreciated, and if Lucy is too MarySue then flames will be considered well deserved.**

Lucy wasn't sure what was worse: the fact that her dress was muddy and swiftly soaking up water, the knowledge that she had been stupid enough to trip over a pig, or the way the aforementioned animal was looking at her with an expression that, had it been human, would have been described as smugly satisfied. Struggling up from the quagmire that served as a courtyard in front of her little house and shoving her hair from her eyes, she remembered too late that her palms were muddy and hissed in irritation as her blonde hair suddenly acquired several unflattering brunette streaks.

"Grrr…." unable to come up with anything more eloquent to indicate her annoyance, she watched as the pig trotted off to it's companions, no doubt to tell them about the stupid human who had almost fallen on top of it. "Bloody animal," Lucy muttered under her breath as she squeezed the water from the skirt of her heavy woollen dress. "You're lucky I don't make a bacon sandwich of you."

"Having fun?" the voice that startled her out of her dark thoughts was amused but kind, and Lucy looked up to find Llynya leaning against the fence that bordered the pig pen. Her eyes sparkling with mirth, she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, and held it out to the younger girl. "I think they sit there deliberately," she said, narrowing her eyes with mock fierceness at the supremely indifferent pigs. "Probably revenge for the hog-roast at harvest."

Lucy laughed and took the proffered hanky from her friend. "Probably," she agreed, wiping the worst of the mud from her face and hands. "Still if Gawain fancies some target practice…"

"I'll let him know," Llynya replied dryly. "The way he is at the moment, I'm not sure that you'd want him anywhere near you though."

"Giving you a hard time is he?" Lucy quirked an eyebrow at her friend. "I know the knights can get a bit restless when things are quiet."

"When this one is born," Llynya looked down fondly at the swollen curve of her belly, "I imagine that he'll calm down a little. As it is, he's trying to build a crib. Banging and hacking at bits of wood at all hours - I never thought I'd be wishing for a Saxon invasion."

Lucy laughed and shook her head in exaggerated sympathy. Llynya had come to the settlement at Hadrians wall almost six months ago and they had become firm friends very quickly. Gawain was a good man, and more than one girl had cried herself to sleep when he returned to the wall with Llynya, but it was impossible to dislike the pretty dark haired girl. There were stories that she had fought a terrifying beast and held her own against the Woads, but Llynya always laughed them off, saying that her best method of self defence was falling over and persuading one of the knights to save her, and she had obviously forbidden the knights to speak of it. Now, five months pregnant and if not married then very much settled, she helped Vanora run the tavern at the fort. It was nice to have another woman around, Lucy had found - especially one that didn't sell their body for a few coins or look at her with the hard appraising look of someone weighing up the competition. She shouldn't judge, and most of the time she doesn't - her life has been precarious at best, and had it not been for her brother then she would likely had become one of the whores that served the soldiers: hiding the pain behind flirtation and pretend bravado.

Lucy's mother had died giving birth to a stillborn child that would have been her sister, and her father had been a Roman soldier. Brave, yes, but utterly tied to his commanders. He had broken rank and returned to his wife when she had birthed his third child, only to find himself burying her when he should have been cradling their new born babe and arguing good naturedly over what to call it.

He had been flogged publicly and sent to a post on the south coast - Lucy and her brother taken in by a high ranking official with good manners and a fondness for children that was far from innocent. They lasted two days before her brother managed to find a way for them to escape, and at eight years old she found herself under the protection of her elder brother Danny - a solemn twelve year old with a passion for horses and a talent for survival. He looked after her as well as he could, and while he was not particularly demonstrative, she understood that he could not afford to be- not if he wanted to keep them safe. She played along, and didn't embarrass him with tentative words of thanks or affection. He had started as an apprentice to the local blacksmith and had taken over most of the business when arthritis had all but crippled it's owner, and ten years on they had a decent living, and her wary brother was now a stocky man with a child and a wife whom Lucy adored almost as much as he did.

Lucy, for her part, had become a fixture at the tavern, first as a kitchen skivvy and later as one of the serving girls. Vanora who ran the place had become as much a surrogate mother as employer, and while the flame-haired woman made sure she and the other girls worked hard, she looked after them - once memorably knocking out a soldier with a skillet when he had attempted to force himself upon her youngest recruit. It was demanding work, but she had come to love the hustle and bustle, the different people with their different stories.

"Shouldn't you be off by now?" Llynya quirked an eyebrow at Lucy and nodded towards the tavern. "I don't blame you for tarrying, not since Bors has been drinking since noon apparently and picking fights with pretty much everyone at the fort, but Van's not in the best of tempers; it might be best not to give her anything to complain about."

Lucy sighed heavily. "Wonderful. Thanks for the tip." With a wave and a smile to her friend, she hurried back to the little house she shared with her brother and his family to clean up as best she could.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Llynya had been right about both Vanora and Bors' moods. The big knight was well on the way to passing out cold, but as was his habit he was still managing to make enough noise to wake the dead. Making sure that any Roman soldiers were seated at the other end of the tavern, Lucy surreptitiously watered down his ale as much as she dared and did her best to placate Vanora. She often laughed at the couple - both were stubborn , both were devoted to each other and their ever expanding brood of children, but when they fought even Bors's fellow knights who were legendary fighters, took care to keep out their way.

"He's sleeping in the stable tonight," Vanora hissed to Lucy as they busily rinsed and re-filled the ale pitchers. "That's if I don't kill him first." The red-haired woman's eyes flashed as she scrubbed the rough pottery with fierceness that the poor tankard surely did not deserve. Taking it from her, the younger girl rolled her eyes and bit back a smile.

"You said that the last time and the time before that, and the time before that. He'll sober up and apologise and then you can both get back to filling the country with your children."

Vanora laughed reluctantly and flicked Lucy on the shoulder with the cloth she had used to dry her hands. "Less of the cheek from you, missy. I've already got eleven children, twelve if you count Bors; the only way he's going to get any more out of me is if he starts behaving himself."

"Hmm.." Eyeing the stocky man who was currently being carried half-conscious out of the tavern by his friend and fellow knight Dagonet, Lucy was inclined to think that her employer was more likely to be kept awake by her lover's snoring than any amorous attentions. Dagonet gave a wink as he hefted the still protesting Bors out of the tavern, and Lucy grinned at him. The Samartian knights had utterly terrified her when she was younger, and even now that she had got to know them somewhat, she did not doubt the tales of their savagery on the battlefield. Of them all, Dagonet was her favourite. He had found her crying her eyes out by his quarters when she was younger, terrified that she was dying, and terrified of asking the huge solemn knight who was known as a healer for help. Her brother knew little more than nothing of women's problems and Vanora had not realised her ignorance of such things, so when she awakened one morning with her skirt stained with blood, she had panicked and fled to the one person she had thought could help her.

The memory of the huge knight with big roughened hands that had gentled her as though he was afraid he might hurt her by merely touching her, made a humiliating experience strangely sweet. He didn't laugh at her, he didn't tell her she was stupid, although when she understood what was happening she wouldn't have blamed him for doing so. She had left him with a sense of relief, a handful of rags and a strange feeling of comfort. He had obviously talked to Vanora after their encounter, for the tavern owner took her aside the next day and explained many things, which given that the red-head already had four children, was rich in detail and in truth rather more than the embarrassed girl wanted to know. When Dagonet comes into the tavern Lucy always smiles and sometimes hugs him when he is drunk and teases her. She does not fool herself that he is a father substitute, but she knows that he looks upon her fondly and would help her should she ever have need to ask.

The knights are all different and all a source of fascination. She has often neglected other patrons when they have returned to the wall, a little shy of them but endlessly curious. There are so many stories about them in the fort where she abides: stories of bravery and slaughter, stories of bloodshed that she finds hard to reconcile with the men she knows.

Arthur is a legend - almost a God, although she knows that he would not thank her or anyone else for thinking of him in such a way. He rarely laughs, but he is always kind - polite to the men and women that others of his station treat with disgust, and quick to speak out against injustice. When he smiles, and it is a rare occurrence, even the most jaded tavern whores blush.

Galahad is bright eyes and nervous energy, and Lucy silently agrees with his brothers when they call him a puppy. He doesn't have the resigned indifference that they do; he still has hopes and dreams, and from what gossip she has overheard , a desire for tenderness that is unusual. Lucy does not blame him for that, and he had been the first man that she had thought about in the darkness when she should have been sleeping, although she would rather offer herself to the Saxons than ever tell him.

Bors is well, Bors - loud, crude and with a heart as big as the ocean that the soldiers speak of sometimes. Gawain is laughter, golden hair and dangerous when provoked, although unlike some of the others he rarely starts fights: something that cannot be said of Lancelot, who typically ends most of his evenings at the wall fighting, gambling or seducing women with his dark eyes, long lashes and words sweet as honey. Lucy laughs and brushes off his attempts at flirtation with tart words and a forgiving smile; he is handsome and he is charming, and she knows that he is searching for something that she cannot give him.

And then there is Tristan. The knight with golden eyes and few words. He does not often come to the tavern, he never goes to the market, and more than once Lucy has wondered if he truly is the ghost that some soldiers believe him to be. Graceful, angular, and so silent that she always finds herself tripping over her words when she tries to make small talk. He sits and watches the other patrons on the rare occasion he joins his brothers to drink at the tavern, but of them all Lucy knows him least of all. She avoids him as best she can: he makes her nervous, and she is not altogether certain why.

Waving to Dagonet, and trying not to smirk as Vanora hurried to the two men and gave the larger of the knights the key to her home, Lucy turned her attention back to the tankards she had been filling. The knights were restless as were the soldiers, and she would need her wits about her. With luck everyone would get so drunk that they would merely pass out before any fighting would break out, but she made sure that the cudgel propped beneath the bar was in place before she started cleaning the rough wooden tables - it never hurt to be too careful.

As she slid out the back door and carefully hooked an empty bucked onto the chain that lowered into the well outside, she took a moment to relax. Stretching and yawning, she cricked her neck and watched a falcon or kestral circling so high up in the sky that it was little more than a faint dot against the clouds. _Lucky bird to be so free_, she thought idly, _lucky bird to do whatever it pleases. _Hefting the bucket over the lip of the well, she walked back to the tavern, the water sloshing against her legs, her muscles trembling with the weight, and utterly unaware that it was not only the bird that watched her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Nope, nothing you recognise belongs to me, although I'll take Gawain if he's going spare and needs a home : )**

Things changed so quickly that Lucy sometimes felt herself mentally scrabble for purchase in the wake of her conflicting emotions. Perhaps she had become too accustomed to the tentative calm at the fort; perhaps it had become too easy to pretend that there was not a world of bloodshed just beyond the wall. Either way, that fragile almost-peace shattered only days after she had waved at Dagonet as he carried Bors back to Vanora's bed and laughed with Llynya.

Llynya has not laughed in days, and Lucy couldn't really blame her for her lack of humour. This was supposed to be a happy time- a hopeful time. The knights had fulfilled their time of duty, or slavery as it should more accurately be termed, and they had been due to receive the papers that would release them from the stranglehold that Rome had upon them. Instead they were gone again, and most of the few soldiers that remained at the wall were of the opinion that they were unlikely to return.

Lucy only hears bits and pieces, whispers and rumours, but she has a vague idea of what is taking place and fears not only for the absent knights, but for her brother and his family as well as herself. If Rome is truly abandoning Britain then she and the people closest to her have been handed a death sentence. There is nowhere to flee to: to go north is to face the Saxons and to hope that death comes before you have to witness what happens to your companions. The Woads ventured ever further south these days, and while their methods were cleaner and did not revel in bloodshed in the way that the Saxons did, they were no less deadly. The coastal villages on the west coast are the best bet when it comes to protection, but having grown up around Romans, Lucy knows that her accent is strange and her manners different to the villagers that have kept their distance from the stranglehold of Rome.

Danny wants to leave for the coast, one of the few places that might provide some semblance of safety, but while Lucy loves him, she has been uncharacteristically stubborn about leaving the fort. Her brother argues, threatens to tie her up and physically force her to leave; Anni, his wife, worries and uses soft words to try and persuade her, and Eleanor their daughter merely looks at her with confused blue eyes and very nearly shatters her resolve by saying nothing at all. Llynya and Vanora won't leave, and that in itself is enough to keep Lucy where she is. If the knights don't come back; _and they will, _she thinks, _they have to_, both women will be alone. Vanora can't just pick up and run like she can - not with almost a dozen children, and Llynya's baby is due almost any day. Llynya has no-one; no family, few friends and couldn't easily flee even if she wanted to. Lucy can't just leave them - she _won't._ They will go together or not at all.

Danny packed his belongings, tucked his daughter into her travelling fur, and left a week after Arthur had led his men on a conquest that was as futile as it was deadly. Lucy kissed them goodbye, ignored their pleas for her to join them, and watched her brother and his family depart in their rickety cart. She had cried then - sobbed as though her heart would break, and fell asleep on her straw filled mattress in what was now her empty house. Tucked under her bed is a piece of paper that holds the name of a village that a friend of the uncle of the physician at the fort lives in. That is where her brother has fled to, and that is where she hopes to go to eventually. It is supposed to be a pleasant, safe place with fertile land and good fishing - a little too good to be true perhaps. Tucking her head into the lumpy pillow, Lucy counts the stars she can see through the broken slats of the roof and prays to the gods to kep her family safe.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was another week before the knights returned. The days before were at once hectic and strangely quiet. The Roman soldiers still trained, they still got drunk in the tavern, but it was as though their hearts weren't in it any more. More than three quarters of the army stationed there had left, and Lucy was fairly certain that they wouldn't be coming back. Llynya joked about her swollen belly and laughed off concern over the shadows beneath her eyes, Vanora was tense and snapped uncharacteristically at her children. Every day there seemed to be fewer people at the fort, every day there seemed to be a little less hope, and every night Lucy curled herself up on her little mattress in her house that suddenly seemed as huge and silent as the night sky above.

When the knights returned it was as though the sun had suddenly come out from a black cloud and brought life to the people at the wall: the stable boys scurried around the stables, kitchen maids flitted into the kitchens. There was an energy that seemed to spark and rejuvenate the people, and Lucy raced to the top of the battlements when she heard the watchmen cry out. She wasn't the only girl to look eagerly for the knights and make a mental head-count, and she wasn't the only one who cried out when the limp body slumped across the saddle of one of the approaching horses came into sight; but she was the only one who dared whisper his name. _Dagonet._

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Everything after that sudden agonising realisation passed blessedly quickly. She was not there when the knights were given their papers by Bishop Germanius - few were. Vanora and Llynya led their pale, exhausted, partners away after Dagonet was lifted from his horse; the gaunt young boy that tried to keep hold of the dead knight's hand pulled away by a slender woman with a beautiful face and bruises on her arms.

There was nothing she could do - not really. When dawn came Dagonet would be laid to rest with the knights that had fallen before him . Another body buried in the ground of a country he had been forced to protect. Lucy swallowed hard and waited until it was dark before she went to the room that had been allocated for keeping the dead before they were buried. She had been there before - once as a child when her brother had dared her to; a skinny, terrified girl who had fled after only a moment, convinced ghosts were chasing her, and again as an apprentice healer, who had lasted barely half a morning tending the wounded before throwing up, and being told in no uncertain terms that she should find other methods of employment. Now, however, the hallway was silent; a few torches illuminated the darkness and sent shadows flickering across the pale stone, but the big room was silent and almost empty as she entered it. A few candles cast a warm glow upon the body laid upon the bed by the wall, and Lucy had to tread carefully, for most of the room was cloaked in darkness. Trying not to trip on the uneven floor, she picked her way over to her friend. Dagonet's large form was almost completely covered by a dark red blanket: _Roman cloth_, she thought. _Probably belonged to Arthur. _It didn't really matter or make any difference, but it was a gesture of respect - a little thought that showed that the body beneath it had been thought of as more than just a slave. His head was uncovered; eyes closed and skin pale, he almost looked like he was sleeping.

_Dagonet looked peaceful - that at least was something, _Lucy thought to herself. _Let him find happiness in the next life._

The faint movement in the corner almost went unnoticed, but Lucy reacted swiftly when she heard the almost imperceptible scrape of a shoe against stone. Tugging her worn knife from her pocket, she backed way from the sudden threat slowly.

"You won't be needing that." Tristan barely glanced at the little blade Lucy wielded as he stepped out of the shadows. "Nothing but the dead here, girl."

Lucy took a step backwards and bit her lip nervously. The room had seemed big before, but now the shadows slunk around the man that had emerged from them like the cats from the stable, and the room was just _him _suddenly. Taking a step backwards, Lucy watched the scout warily.

"I just wanted to say goodbye," she whispered.

He didn't say anything in reply, but something that could have been sympathy, sadness, anger or a hundred other emotions, briefly flickered in his eyes before he regained his usual inscrutability.

"Say goodbye tomorrow." He was very close to her, and Lucy could smell the oil that softened the leather of his hauberk, the faint odour of his sweat. "It isn't safe to be out alone at this hour."

"I'm not afraid." She was horrified to hear the squeakiness of her voice, the childishness of her words. "I just wanted to…"

"Say goodbye." He didn't seem concerned by her nervousness, and Lucy watched him pad towards Dagonet's body. He looked at his friend's corpse for a moment, said nothing, and pulled the blanket over the big knight's head carefully. "He wouldn't want you to risk your life just to say goodbye."

"You came," she pointed out, before turning away. "You…" she didn't get any further than that. One moment the scout was several yards away, the next he had pinned her against the wall, the breath knocked out of her and his breath hot against her cheek.

"Don't ever turn your back like that," Tristan hissed. He tightened his grip on Lucy's wrists and she squirmed against him; angry, frightened and shocked. He held her pinned against the wall for several seconds before releasing her. In the faint light his dark eyed gleamed, the markings that marred his high cheekbones thrown into sharp relief. "Never turn your back on your enemy." Abruptly he released her, and stepped back as she fell to her knees. "Back away or incapacitate them first if you have to, but never turn away."

Lucy rocked back on her heels and watched the scout disappear into the shadows. "Are you my enemy?" she asked quietly. He glanced back but did not reply; golden eyes a brief light in the darkness before he was gone. She gave Dagonet a last kiss goodbye, tucked her shawl close around herself when she ventured outside, and hurried home as fast as she could.

Settled as best she could be on the rough mattress, Lucy didn't fall asleep for a long time. Her wrists ached a little, and she wasn't quite sure what she felt about everything that had happened that night. She had said goodbye to Dagonet, and that had hurt. Knights often died - Rome treated them as little more than talented cattle after all, but Dagonet had been a good man, a kind man, and it seemed horribly wrong to think that he would never have a chance to have the peaceful life that he deserved. Tristan had been angry at her - why? What was it to him where she went? it wasn't as though they were lovers or friends or anything else that would cause him to take notice of her. He had no right to order her about, and it isn't the memory of the press of his body against hers that is keeping her awake, she tells herself. The first pale light of dawn is creeping over the hills before she finally gets to sleep, and even then her dreams are muddled and confusing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

"Are you my enemy?" Tristan remembers the tremor in her voice and shoves the thought away. He is good at that ; practice has taught him to dull the most painful of memories, discipline has made him as deft at self-control as he is with his sword. He had been cruel to the girl, and he feels a little flicker of regret at that - an emotion swiftly tidied away into one of the many dark recesses of his mind. No, he was not her enemy, but neither was he her friend. She shouldn't have been there, she shouldn't have looked at him with such wary trust. Pale in the darkness, her hair gleaming in the candlelight like one of Arthur's angels, the bright sorrow and tenderness in her eyes almost frightened him. She trusted too easily, she didn't even try to hide her emotions and she had turned her back on him for gods sake! What was wrong with the girl?

He has seen her before in the tavern. Lucy - the sister of the blacksmith. Lucy of the sweet smile and golden hair. Lucy who had once given him an apple, for no reason other than she knew that he liked them. A little thing, a tiny meaningless kindness, but there had been a brief moment when he had taken the small misshapen fruit from her, that something inside him had shaken and twisted painfully. He had not thanked her and had left swiftly afterwards, but he had not forgotten it, and he had tried to force himself to hate her for her naivety.

If he sometimes makes sure that she gets home safely then that is merely payment for the fruit, he tells himself. If he had been a little too vicious towards the soldier who had followed her when she left the tavern one night, intent on taking her against her will, then that had merely been an opportunity to take revenge on Rome wasn't it? He wasn't trying to protect her - he is a killer, he was born to kill; that is who he is, that is what he is. It isn't as though she knew about those things anyway, and even if she did, why would she care? She probably has her eye on a farmer or tradesman with a future and something more than bitterness in his heart.

There are a dozen whores at the fort that are prettier than her, and he has had most of them. They are skilled, they do not ask for anything more than the coins he pays them, and they are gone as soon as he has finished. He does not look upon them as anything more than a means of release, and they know better than to think of him as anything more than a patron. Affection makes you slow; winds itself into your soul like a kitten and then bites and scratches like a wildcat when it is ripped away, he thinks. And it always taken away - that much he knows without question. Let Bors and Gawain tie their own nooses around their necks; let them give their hearts to their women. He likes Vanora and Llynya - admires their courage and their beauty. When something twists inside him when Llynya looks at his blond brother as though he is the sun to her moon, or the usually fierce Vanora tucks herself into Bors's lap, one of her many babes cradled in her arms, he tells himself it is pity that he feels. It won't last, such things never last, and it is folly to pretend that they can. It can't be jealousy, for he needs no-one and no-one needs him.

And yet he has sat on the floor next to Dagonet's body for so long that the candles are guttering and the first light of dawn has edged its way through the darkness. Things are changing, and the uncertainty is harder to endure than any order to fight. Technically he is free, he supposes; he has his papers after all. He left them in the stable with his hawk and his horse; tucked into the weathered leather of his saddle. The parchment is thick, the writing graceful and flowing - not that he can read it. He has longed for freedom for so long that now he has it, he has no idea what to do with it. Dagonet is dead, and Arthur has not so much fallen in love with the beautiful Woad woman Guinevere as sacrificed his very soul for her. The Saxons are approaching, Rome has all but fled, and Tristan knows that Arthur will not leave this cursed land now. A battle is coming, and it is not so much a question of if he will stay and fight as when. He can no more go back to Samartia as the animal he has become as he could fly to the moon. Peace is no longer a dream as a nightmare; for what place is there in this life if he is to abandon his bloodlust and his sword? They won't win the battle that is coming, and the knowledge doesn't frighten him. At least this time he has a choice; at least when he dies it will be on a battlefield that he will ride towards willingly. If he is lucky then he will at least die fighting for someone that he admires.

Flexing his fingers, he wonders if he had left bruises on Lucy's wrists. He hopes he hasn't, he wishes that she had not come here tonight. The knights know to leave him alone when he is angry or brooding, but she had done nothing more than brave the darkness to say farewell to her friend and he had hurt her for it. If nothing else he had taught her a valuable lesson, he thought tiredly. If she had turned her back on him then she was likely to turn her back on others. Men who would ask more than a thoughtless release of pent-up frustration. Pretty girls with sweet natures were likely to have their innocence ripped from them brutally: better that she learnt that lesson from him, rather than some drunken soldier.

Sighing, he leant his head against the wall. Brooding wouldn't help anyone: Dagonet was dead and gone, and wouldn't care whether he stayed or went. His horse and hawk would be waiting to be fed and he should at least wash before the funeral. Getting to his feet he stretched, and without glancing back, crossed the room and closed the door behind him.

**A/N Sorry, short chapter - I hope it didn't get too confusing switching POV's. Action in the next chappy, and er, AU-ness (that isn't a word is it?) . As always thanks very much for the comments and criticism.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

**This chapter is a bit AU - as the rest of the story will be from now on, so events won't necessarily be the same as the movie, although it won't veer away too wildly (no spaceships or anything like that lol!).**

_One of the Woad witches had cast a spell, _Lucy thought to herself; either that or she was still asleep and dreaming. Nothing that had happened in the past two days had made any sense at all. The ragged, exhausted, serfs that Arthur had apparently liberated from a nobleman in the north had rested for a night and left with the rest of the Romans that very morning. Tired and afraid, they were eager to talk, and Lucy had gleaned fragments of information from them when she passed around bowls of broth. Arthur had ordered that the refugees were to be fed, and as he was now the highest ranking Roman at the fort, his orders were obeyed, although Lucy had a feeling that Vanora would have found a way to feed them even without his command. The last of the Romans had gone, and the vast majority of the people at the wall had left as well. An army of Saxons was approaching, and without Rome's protection to stay here was tantamount to suicide. Lucy watched them leave, brushed off the arguments and pleas of other villagers to join them, and tried to squash down her fear.

Arthur had made a pact with Merlin and his Woads_. That _Lucy can't even begin to comprehend. Beneath the earth of the little cemetery on the hill lies the bodies of dozens of knights - men that Arthur had trained, cared about and reluctantly sent to their deaths. Most of them had fallen from Woad arrows or blades - or the accompanying infection from their wounds. For such a gallant man to ally himself with their killers is betrayal surely? She has seen the Woad woman Guinevere, and has listened to the rumours regarding her and Arthur, although she hardly needs to. The young woman is hauntingly beautiful and Arthur does not take his eyes from her. Vanora has told her that the Guinevere was tortured by the Roman that Arthur was sent to rescue, and that he in turn died by her hand. Lucy isn't sure what she thinks of this. Romans can be cruel - she knows this first-hand, and no-one should be tortured, but if the woman has killed once then what is to prevent her from turning on Arthur once the Saxons have been defeated?

Sighing, Lucy rubbed her cloth over the table she had cleaned three times already, and for once wished that the tavern was busier. A total of nine people nursed their ale quietly, and there wasn't anything to do other than brood on her thoughts and worry about what would happen tomorrow. She should have left with the other villagers, she knows this, but even after she had packed her few belongings, she couldn't bring herself to go. All but one of the healers had fled - a man by the name of Brennus who was sixty years old and notoriously taciturn. When the battle was over there would be wounded to be taken care of, and while her previous attempt at learning healing skills had failed miserably, she still remembered some of the things that she had been taught. At the very least she could provide some comforting words - something that was sometimes as important as a surgeon's skill. The woads had their own healers, but the knights - those who survived (and she pushed that thought away swiftly), would need tending. Brennus had been surprised when she had offered him her help, but since he had had precious few other offers he accepted, although he did express profound misgivings at her choice.

Vanora had flatly refused to go anywhere, although she had sent her children off with her two elder sisters: spinsters who doted on the youngsters and almost looked upon them as their own. Gods willing, she would send for them all after the battle was over, but she wasn't going to go anywhere without Bors, despite an ear-splitting argument that had ended with him threatening to tie her on a horse and sending it on with the others, and she kneeing him viciously in a place that caused more than one man to wince in sympathy.

Llynya had left with Vanora's sisters, but only after a considerable amount of emotional blackmail from Gawain regarding the safety of their unborn child. She had bid Lucy and Vanora a tearful farewell and begged them both to flee to safety - a sentiment that Gawain had echoed after he had managed to pry himself away from Llynya and watched her ride away. The blond knight now sat slumped in the corner of the tavern next to Galahad, both of them almost silent, their expressions troubled and their ale untouched. Watching them worriedly, Lucy tripped over a chair, and would have fallen were it not for a strong hand grabbing her arm and steadying her. She looked around startled, and found herself meeting Tristan's dark eyes. He didn't say anything and didn't release her; just seemed to study her for a moment, his expression as inscrutable as always.

Lucy froze: remembering what had happened before when he had grabbed her, and skimming through her memory with panicky haste for something she might have done to make him angry again. He didn't shove her away, he didn't snarl at her, and Lucy looked at him in confusion. Tristan glanced at her face and gently reached for her wrist, turning it over carefully. One long finger touched the faint bruise on the pale underside of her arm, and she flinched with a response that had nothing to do with pain.

"I'm sorry." he said quietly before releasing her, his face unreadable. "My anger did not lie with you that night - I am sorry if I hurt you."

Lucy looked at him dumbstruck, totally at a loss to know what to think. The scout gave a faint nod of farewell before turning and leaving the tavern, vanishing into the darkness like the ghost that some believed him to be. _That hadn't happened - that couldn't have happened_, she thought in confusion. In all the time that she had lived at the fort she had rarely heard Tristan speak, and never had she heard him apologise for anything. He was a killer; he slaughtered men without remorse, often brutally if the rumours about him were true. What were a couple of tiny bruises on a tavern girl to a man like him? He didn't even like her for goodness sake. She looked down at her arm thoughtfully. Her skin still felt warm where he had touched her, and she pulled her sleeve back down quickly. The world had already turned upside down - perhaps tomorrow she would wake to find the sun had fallen out of the sky, Lancelot had become a monk or Bors had finally proposed to Vanora. Tristan was riding with Arthur the next morning - in all likelihood she would not see him again. _Not that it mattered, not that she cared_, she told herself - she barely knew him after all, and he had either been dismissive or angry on the few occasions that he had been forced to acknowledge her. Why should she care what happened to him? Nevertheless she watched the doorway that he had exited with an uneasiness that felt strange and unfamiliar, and Vanora had to shout her name three times before she came to her senses and went back to work.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The hours passed slowly, so slowly, and more than once Lucy considered throwing open the door to the room in which she waited and running into battle. Surely fighting couldn't be worse than just sitting, waiting either to die or recognise the wounded or the dying? Vanora was restless, tapping her heel against her chair in a rhythm so annoying that Lucy wanted to scream at her to shut up. She didn't, merely gave a reassuring smile to the girl who sat opposite her, which, if it was as insincere as she felt it to be, probably frightened her even more.

She and Vanora had settled themselves in Brennus's chambers when the knights had departed, waiting with the old healer to see what the outcome of the battle would be. They had waved the knights off earlier - a pitiful attempt at cheer and pride when all they felt was fear; Vanora barely managing to keep her tears in check until they were out of sight. Busying themselves by rolling bandages and heating big pans of water, they were startled when a young girl tentatively slid through the door. Her hair was so dark that it was almost black, her eyes wary as she introduced herself. Her name was Kyrie, and she had been the youngest of the prostitutes that did business at the wall. Tentatively she explained that she wanted to help - the knights had treated her kindly, and well that was a rare thing wasn't it? Arthur himself had once saved her from a beating, and if she could repay that by tending the wounded, then she would do that if they let her. Twisting her fingers into her skirts, she didn't dare look at Brennus and flinched when Vanora "harrumphed" in disbelief. Lucy shot a warning look at her friend and went over to the girl, patting her shoulder in a maternal fashion that seemed a bit silly given that they were roughly the same age. They needed all the help that they could get, and it must have taken Kyrie a lot of courage to offer hers.

"Have you any experience in healing, girl?" Brennus asked quietly.

Kyrie hesitated before replying. "My mother taught me a little, and at the wall I sometimes helped Madwen with…. Problems, you know, women's problems."

Lucy and Vanora exchanged glances. Madwen was the person that women, usually prostitutes, went to when they found themselves carrying an unwanted child. While never spoken of openly, it was well known that certain herbs could induce a miscarriage, and that Madwen was able to procure them - for a fee of course. Kyrie caught the look of disapproval, and hurriedly continued.

"It wasn't just what you're thinking. I helped with birthing several babes, and I learn fast - I'm not squeamish. Please, I just want to help."

Brennus studied the slender girl for a moment. "Lucy will show you where everything is," he said abruptly. "You will do as I tell you, is that understood?"

Kyrie nodded. "I understand." Turning to Lucy, she let the blonde girl talk her through the bandages and ointments, and pretended not to notice Vanora's sigh of irritation.

Now, several hours later, the three women and the healer sat quietly. There were no more blankets to be folded, no more herbs to be crushed. Outside the dim sound of men screaming and shouting, the clash of metal against metal, seeped through the walls and raised the tension in the room even higher. Lucy fiddled with a stray thread on her sleeve. Pull it one way, the material bunched together, pull it again it straightened out. She felt oddly calm; _keep pulling the thread_, she thought to herself - _if it doesn't break then everything will be alright. _Beside her sat Brennus, quiet and unmoving. His solid presence should have been comforting, but Lucy could feel the brush of the dagger at his side when he shifted in his seat and knew that it wasn't Saxon blood that it was meant to shed. If Arthur failed then she, Vanora, and now Kyrie, would have the choice of a slow death at the hands of their enemies or a merciful one at Brennus's. Neither option were particularly appealing, she thought with barely controlled hysteria.

The banging on the door made them all jump, and Kyrie let out a small cry. Three thumps then two, then three again. The signal that they had agreed on with Arthur, the signal that the battle was over and the Saxons defeated. Lucy burst into tears, getting to her feet shakily, and following Brennus to the door. Her short rush of euphoria was swiftly smothered by the sight that met them as they opened the door. Jols staggered in first, bloody and exhausted, half-dragging a barely conscious Lancelot. Brennus moved swiftly, taking the injured knight's other arm and hoisting him onto one of the beds. Nodding at Lucy and Kyrie who were watching him wide-eyed, he reached for the cross-bow bolt embedded in Lancelot's shoulder and yanked it out swiftly. Lancelot roared in pain and struggled against Jol's grip before blessedly lapsing into unconsciousness . Lucy fought the urge to be sick, and tuned away. Bors strode into in to the room and headed straight to Vanora. She flung herself into his arms and he kissed her with fierce desperation. _If he's standing and kissing then he couldn't be too hurt, _Lucy thought blearily, turning her attention to the other men entering the room. Kyrie was settling Gawain down onto one of the beds carefully. The blond knight winced as he moved his arm, and he was covered in blood, but he had walked in unaided, and that was a good sign. Galahad was equally filthy, but he waved off Lucy's hurried offer of aid and gestured wearily to the doorway. It took a moment before Arthur walked in, his eyes clouded with sorrow, his big frame buckling under the strain of the burden he carried. Lucy pointed towards one of the beds and carefully helped slide the body slung over his shoulders onto the blankets. It took her a moment for her to recognise the unconscious man before her - he was covered in blood, his tangled hair half covering his face. When one pain blurred golden eye half opened, she took a step backwards as realisation flooded through her. _Tristan._

**A/N: Yes, I know - the "Tristan and Lancelot survive" idea has been done many times before and by many better writers than me. There will be a few twists coming though : ) Feedback is always appreciated. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: not mine - quelle surprise.**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, comments good or bad are always welcomed.**

There had been an ocean once. A world of water bigger than the sky, so endless that it had made him feel even tinier that he was. _A long time ago, he thinks, _struggling to centre himself _- not real, not now. _Buthe can feel the chafe of the rope that binds his wrists, the ache of his shoulders and legs from being tied in such a cramped position. Dip and sway, shift and roll, the ocean is lullaby, and he is thirsty - so thirsty. Outside the water is deep and cold and more that big enough to swallow him whole. He wonders dimly if it would hurt if it did. The world shifts and blurs, and now everything is bright heat and terror - his mother is screaming, and there is blood everywhere; his father, where is his father? He screams and screams, and abruptly everything changes once again.

"_Hush. Hush, you're dreaming, that's all. You're safe, Tristan, you're safe." _There is a girl above him, and he thinks he can feel soft fingers upon his skin and something long forgotten that might have been kindness in her whisper soft words.He tries to open his eyes, tries to _see, _but the world is too bright and it _hurts_, gods how could there be so much pain in the world? He might have cried out he thinks; he certainly reached out for her, the nameless voice. The feeling of his fingers twisting into soft cloth, his name called by someone far away, is the last thing he recognises before the pain sends him back into oblivion.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"He spoke," Lucy whispered to herself as she pushed herself off the bed upon which she was perched. Tristan's eyes were closed again, his body still, but he had spoken, he had been awake even if it had been for only a moment. "Brennus!" hurrying swiftly over to the healer, she tried not to let tiredness and hope turn her words into meaningless babbling. "He woke up; Tristan I mean. He was awake."

The elderly healer put down the pestle and mortar which he had been using, and turned to Lucy. Her eyes were wide, her expression hopeful, but glancing towards the bed in the corner of the room he could distinguish no change in the patient upon it. If the scout had been awake then it was clear that he was very much unconscious now. Lucy followed his gaze, a little of her enthusiasm ebbing away. "Honestly, he was awake. He didn't seem to know where he was or anything, but he touched me." She held out her arm as though Tristan's fingers should have somehow burnt into the sleeves of her dress. Brennus raised an eyebrow and Lucy blushed at her idiocy, lowering her arm.

"Let's go and have a look shall we?" Brennus said, relenting a little. It had been two days since the battle, and Tristan was the only one of the knights yet to show any improvement. Bors and Arthur had escaped with a few gashes and bruises and seemed far happier to be cared for by their women than loiter about the healing rooms. Gawain's arm had been stitched and bandaged, and after being persuaded to take a brief nap which lasted more than half a day thanks to the drugged wine that Vanora administered with a smile and no remorse, he had departed to retrieve Llynya. Lancelot, while still weak, was regaining his strength along with his spirits and was currently engaged in a battle of wills with Kyrie, that might merely be relief at being alive or irritation that the girl who tended him seemed to be showing no indication of falling for him.

But Tristan… Brennus sighed as he looked down upon the scout's pale face. His injuries had been severe; two deep slashes to his ribs, a gash in his leg that had taken so many stitches that the healer's hand had cramped when he had closed the skin, and a ragged stab wound to his lower back that must have missed any vital organs, but had taken an eternity to staunch. The knight had lost so much blood that it was a wonder that he was still alive, but he seemed to fight against death with the tenacity he showed on the battlefield. Despite this, he showed none of the same determination to return to conciousness.

"What do you think?" Lucy looked at Brennus with hopeful shadowed eyes, and the healer inwardly sighed. The girl had taken it upon herself to look after the scout, and she had done a good job so far, he grudgingly admitted to himself. Despite this, he couldn't bring himself to give her false hope. Checking the unconscious man's pulse, he acknowledged that it might be a fraction stronger, and perhaps there was a little more colour in his cheeks, but he showed no sign of waking up. "There doesn't seem to be much change yet lass. Are you sure that you didn't…"

"I didn't imagine it," Lucy said vehemently. "It was just for a moment, but he woke up."

Brennus sighed. "Alright, I believe you. If he has done so once then he will do so again. Go down to kitchen and get yourself fed girl; no sense in you wasting away to nothing."

"His bandages need changing," she protested. "Anyway, I'm not hungry." Her stomach took that opportunity to give a low rumbling growl, and Lucy blushed as Brennus raised an eyebrow at her.

"Alright, I am hungry," she amended sheepishly. "As soon as I'm done then I'll go and find Vanora."

"He's not going to go anywhere, Lucy, " the healer pointed out kindly.

"The blonde girl shrugged. "I know, I just want to make sure that if he does wake up then he'll be comfortable."

"And afterwards?"

"I'll eat, I'll sleep - I promise." She smiled a little at Brennus's disbelieving expression. "Honestly, I swear I will."

The old man huffed and gave her warning glance before going back to his work. "You'd better."

Lucy stifled a smile. She had become quite fond of the crotchety old healer in the past few days. He wasn't much for small talk and picked up mistakes with eyes keener than Tristan's hawk that often perched on the windowsill, but any faint words of praise were all the sweeter for the fact that they were so rarely bestowed.

Drawing back Tristan's blankets, she took a moment to study the unconscious man's face. Tangled dark hair threaded with silver, sharp cheekbones, a wide mouth that she had never seen smile. She knows that Vanrora and Kyrie think she has a crush upon the scout, but that isn't it; not really, she thinks to herself as she starts untying his bandages. He had been half-conscious when he had been brought in, and once she had recovered her shock at seeing someone who she had thought was immortal so injured, she had soothed him and promised that he would be alright. A quick promise borne of confusion and panic perhaps, but one she would try to honour. Arthur had entrusted her to care of him, and take care of him she would. Arthur and his knights had kept she and her companions safe against the Saxons, and she would help heal his knights. It would be a blood debt repaid, Lucy thought, wearily pulling up her sleeves and reaching for the injured scout.

Curling an arm beneath his shoulders, she lifted him up a little and slid another pillow under his back, allowing her room to unwind his dressings. He was naked beneath the blankets, and she was still a little surprised how comfortable she had become with dealing with the previously mysterious male form. True, she had seen her brother naked a couple of times, and old drunken Denny had once shown her more than just the knife in his pocket before Vanora sent him stumbling out of the tavern, but it wasn't nearly as disconcerting as this.

Two days ago she had blushed so fiercely when Brennus had cut the scout's clothing off that Kyrie had asked her if she was feeling ill, and the day after that, when she was wrestling with bandages, ointment and rather more naked Tristan than she was entirely comfortable with, Vanora had smiled knowingly and taken over the task. Now, she cleaned the neat rows of stitches that traversed his chest with her attention entirely focused on spotting any tell-tale signs of early infection, wiped the liquid that oozed from his thigh without having to make an awkward tent of blanket to hide the, _that, _at the top of his legs, and felt no hesitation in touching his cheek and speaking soft words to him when he occasionally muttered in whatever delirium he was trapped in. Tucking the last tie of the bandages tidily against his skin, she reached forward and lifted him again, grunting slightly as she balanced his weight against her and slid the pillow from behind his back. It was only when she laid him back down that she noticed that his eyes were open.

"Oh!" drawing back in shock, she let go of him and cringed as he let out a wince when his body flopped back onto the bed. " I.. Er… Sir? I'm sorry.." Her hands fluttered uselessly above him. Yes, she had touched him before, but he hadn't been aware of it then. An awake Tristan was a completely different proposition to an unconscious one. Taking a step backwards, she swallowed hard and wished that Brennus had not left the room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tristan watched Lucy carefully - it gave him something other than pain to focus upon, it gave him a breathing space before he dared ask how his brothers fared. _Silly chit; still utterly unable to conceal __her feelings, still backing away from him as though he might bite her._ His eyes were heavy and it was a struggle to stay awake, but he recognised enough to know that he was in one of the healing chambers of the wall, knew that if Lucy was tending him then the Saxons must have been defeated. His throat was dry and it took a moment before he managed to form a word from his parched lips.

"Water."

Lucy's eyes widened and she reached for the pitcher beside the bed. "Careful", she warned, a little of her usual confidence asserting itself. "Too much will make you sick."

Leaning down, she ignored her unease and slid a hand behind Tristan's neck, raising his head slightly. Bringing the pitcher to his lips, she let him take several large swallows of water before reluctantly pulling it away. He watched her steadily; pale, weak, his eyes glassy with pain, but missing nothing. Lucy dropped her eyes and watched the muscles in his throat ripple as he swallowed the cool liquid. Laying his head back down, she eased her hand from beneath his tangled hair.

"Better?" she asked quietly.

"Aye." It was more of a whisper than a reply. "Thank-you."

"You're welcome." She tucked her hands into her lap and wasn't quite sure what to say.

"My brothers? How do they fare?" his voice was weak and raspy, and Lucy interrupted him swiftly.

"Your brothers are fine - or at least no permanent damage has been done. The Saxons are defeated, Arthur has the Woads on his side. There are whispers that he might be made king."

The corner of Tristan's mouth twisted in a half smile and something that could have been amusement or satisfaction flickered in his eyes. "And you Lucy, why are you here?" His voice was tired, his eyes sliding shut despite the obvious effort he was taking to keep them open.

"Just passing through," she said quietly, pulling up his blanket as he finally succumbed to exhaustion. "Just passing through."


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

Lucy watched Tristan's eyes close, and slid carefully off the bed. He had woken again, and it seemed that Brennus had been right: if he had woken once then he would do so again. But not too soon, she hoped , not too soon. He had only spoken a dozen words to her, and already she was in a hopeless muddle. Even hurt and barely conscious he made her feel weak and a little stupid, and she wasn't, she _wasn't_ she told herself fiercely. Lancelot had laughed when he had awoken the day after the crossbow bolt had been pulled from his shoulder; a rather pathetic attempt at amusement, but the joy at knowing that he was alive and free had been unmistakable. Gawain had talked of nothing but going to find Llynya, even while his wound was stitched, and Galahad had merely smiled, said nothing and collapsed in an exhausted heap in the corner of the tavern. The castle hummed with relief and hope: even the Woads were beginning to be accepted by the few men that had stayed to fight at the wall, but when Tristan had spoken to her there had been nothing but desolation in his eyes.

"Lucy?" Vanora's voice startled her, and the blonde girl turned swiftly to the doorway. Vanora crossed the room and rubbed Lucy's shoulder affectionately as she glanced at the unconscious scout. "Brennus told me that Tristan had woken earlier - is that true?"

Lucy nodded. "It's true. He spoke to me a moment ago - he wanted to know if his brothers, I mean his fellow knights were alright."

Vanora nodded in understanding. Leaning forward, she tucked Tristan's blanket more snugly around his shoulders. "Stubborn gits, the lot of them, but don't underestimate the bond between them. They've only ever had each other to depend on. Bors loves me, I know that, but if Arthur told him to fight he'd fight."

Lucy took a moment to think that comment through. "Doesn't that bother you? I mean… don't you…"

"Mind?" Vanora have a weary huffing laugh. "'course I do love. But I knew who he was when I carried his first babe, and I can't blame him for it any more than he blames me for tying myself to him. He and the other knights were ripped from their families when they were boys, they've only ever followed Arthur." She drew back, touching the unconscious scout fondly on the cheek. "It's been hard on them - perhaps hardest of all on _him," _she said, nodding at Tristan. "Too much time alone, too much time with nothing but bloodshed and bad memories. He doesn't mean to be cruel."

"I didn't.." Lucy bristled a little at the implication. "I've never said that."

"No, you haven't." Vanora looked at her knowingly. "But you don't relax when you are around him either - not that I can blame you."

Giving a half-smile, Lucy let Vanora push her gently towards the doorway.

"Kyrie's keeping some soup warm for you down in the kitchens. Eat, then get some sleep; I'll keep an eye on Tristan."

"Thank-you." Lucy was half-way out the door before a thought struck her. "Should I tell Bors where you are?"

Vanora gave one of her broad brilliant smiles. "Stupid oaf shared three pitchers of ale with Lancelot - they're passed out cold next to each other in the room next door. I'm waiting for Brennus to find them - trust me love, I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Lucy laughed and shook her head ruefully. "I'll leave you to it then."

Closing the door carefully, Lucy pattered down the worn stone steps and headed towards the tavern. Here and there were groups of people talking - some Woads, some local villagers. She tried to walk slowly past the Woads, but it was difficult to do so : they had been her enemies for so long that it was very strange to find them standing nonchalantly in them middle of the courtyard. _Better get used to it girl, _she thought to herself. _Better to live with them than fight them._

The tavern was more lively than it had been the last time that she had visited it, but still far from busy. Several groups of men huddled around their tables, talking intently, a couple of exhausted villagers were fast asleep and slumped against the walls.

"Lucy!" The greeting managed to be at once enthusiastic and wary. Looking around, Lucy saw Kyrie hurrying towards her and smiled at the dark-haired girl.

"Kyrie! How are you? I wondered where you had got to."

Kyrie smiled, a little shy, but obviously eager to have someone her own age to talk to. "I'm fine. Are you hungry? You must be hungry? Vanora said you would be. I made soup, it's nothing special - I mean I'm not good at cooking.."  
Lucy grinned at the girl's enthusiasm and linked her arm with hers, nudging her back towards the kitchen. "Soup sounds wonderful, and believe me you can't be worse than I am at cooking - Vanora banned me from the kitchens on the second day I started here."

Kyrie giggled and disentangled herself from Lucy when they entered the kitchen. Carefully ladelling a generous helping of soup into a bowl , she handed it to the other girl and watched with ill-concealed trepidation when she took a sip.

"Mmm." Lucy looked up over the rim of the bowl and licked her lips. "This is wonderful." Kyrie's pale face flushed with colour and she gave a dismissive wave, although she couldn't hide the smile that twitched at the corners of her mouth.

"It's nothing special."

"On the contrary, after living off apples and bread for the past two days it's the closest thing to Arthur's heaven I'm going to get." Putting down the bowl, grabbing a pitcher of ale and sliding onto the wooden bench that dominated the bench at the end of the kitchen, Lucy gestured for Kyrie to join her. The girl looked worriedly back at the tavern, and Lucy laughed. "It's alright, If they need anything then they'll yell, and if there's a fight then Vanora's wooden spoon is kept up there." She gestured to a big spoon that hung from a hook beside the fire.

"A spoon?" Kyrie looked at the implement in confusion.

"That is no mere spoon." Lucy shook her head in mock warning. " That little bit of wood has had Bors, Gawain and Galahad whimpering for mercy. When wielded by Vanora anyway."

"Oh." The dark haired girl blinked in shock before grabbing two mugs and sitting down. "But they're knights, people like me, I mean you, I mean… you can't treat them like that."

Lucy gave a "humph" before poring out a generous helping of ale for her and Kyrie. Taking a gulp of the bitter liquid, she shrugged. "They might be knights but they are still men. Even Arthur himself has passed out dead drunk here on more than one occasion. Look at Galahad over there - he doesn't look particularly threatening does he?"

Kyrie glanced around and blushed. Galahad was slumped in the corner, obviously a little drunk and lost in thought. With one hand he idly balanced a knife on it's tip - a game that he was losing if the number of times it clattered to the table was any indication. "He's still a knight." She said firmly.

Lucy took another sip of her soup and watched Kyrie carefully. She had noted the way the girl's cheeks flushed when she had looked at Galahad, and the way she was studiously pretending not to have noticed him. It was a look she had seen before by girls mooning over the handsome young man, but it seemed strange to see it on the face of a girl who had previously sold her body for money. As Kyrie had suddenly decided that the table top was a thing of endless fascination, Lucy took the opportunity to study her properly. Long dark hair, brown eyes that seemed too big in her delicate face. Her body was so slender that it was almost boyish, and she wondered how Kyrie had survived being for want of a better word, a whore. "Did you and Galahad…" Lucy could have kicked herself for speaking without thinking; there really was no polite way of asking the girl if she had bedded Galahad for coin.

Kyrie looked up sharply, understanding and shame flickering in her dark eyes. "No. None of the knights. Madwen only sent the best to them."

"Sorry," Lucy wasn't sure what to say. "I shouldn't have…"

"No." Kyrie raised her mug to her lips and downed most of the contents in several large swallows. "You shouldn't have to apologise. You've been kind to me."

"It's no more than you deserve," Lucy said softly.

Kyrie gave a half smile. "I never thought I'd end up a whore. I wanted to learn - I thought…" her voice trailed off. "Da died in the winter-time, and ma, well she just gave up after that. She died a couple of weeks later. The land should have gone to me - that's what they wanted, but the law says it had to go to the eldest male relative." She tapped her fingers on the table and watched them as though she didn't quite recognise that they belonged to her. "My cousin took it, and made it clear that I wasn't welcome. Winter was coming, I was hungry, the only thing I had to sell was me." She brushed Lucy's hand away when she tried to squeeze her hand in sympathy. "Don't.. I was no good at it see… Madwen and the girls tried to explain, but I was afraid, and the third one hurt me. A lot." She swallowed hard, "and after that they'd send me back." With a great deal of effort, she met Lucy's eyes. "I know that you think I'm brave for coming back, but I'm not, not really. I had no-where else to go. Arthur was kind, and I wanted to help." Taking a deep breath, she got to her feet swiftly. "You shouldn't be seen with me."

Lucy grabbed her wrist before she could escape. She didn't have any words to make things better, she didn't know what was happening to herself let alone anyone else. Pulling the smaller girl against her, she hugged her and didn't say anything. Releasing her, she gave a wobbly smile. "My brother and his family left for the coast before the battle leaving me the house to take care of. I have several rooms and no company - If you'd like, you would be welcome to share with me."

Kyrie shook her head, "I couldn't… I mean I don't take charity… I…"

"Please." Lucy rubbed a weary hand against her forehead. "I hate living there alone, you'd be doing me a favour

Giving her a searching look, Kyrie finally nodded. "Alright." She bit back a grin and scuffed one foot against the floor. "I'd like that."

"Then it's settled." Lucy made no attempt to hide her own smile. "Look for the smithy's cottage near the river - bring what you have over when you have time. There is a key under the horseshoe on the west-facing wall. I don't know when I'll be back, but make yourself at home."

"Alright, Thank-you." Kyrie smiled shyly and gave a wave as she hurried off to serve one of the patrons who were calling for service.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lucy ascended the stairs back to the healing rooms with a lot less energy than she had descended them. She hadn't been lying when she had complemented Kyrie on her cooking, and the warmth of the soup had spread through her body making her feel almost content and more than a little sleepy. It would be nice to have someone to share her empty house with, and Gods knew that Kyrie deserved a second chance. Perhaps Vanora could be persuaded to take her on as a cook, she thought idly.

As though she had read her thoughts, Vanora suddenly appeared at the stop of the staircase, putting a finger to her lips, her eyes alight with amusement. Lucy shrugged and kept quiet, any questions she had answered by the muffled bellowing at the end of the hall. Behind the door that led to Lancelot's chambers the words "Fool!", "Set-back!", "Idiot Samartian!" and several others that she didn't recognise and wasn't sure that she wanted to, echoed against the stone walls.

"Brennus found them?" Lucy grinned at Vanora who rolled her eyes in a manner that in no way diminished her obvious glee at the situation.

"Yup, I must say for such a quiet man Brennus has quite a way with insults. The inbred son of a donkey.. " she paused thoughtfully. "I'll have to remember that one."

"And Tristan?" Lucy said pointedly, nodding towards the doorway to his chambers.

"Oh I don't think he's the son of a donk…" Realising what she had meant, Vanora corrected herself. "Don't worry, he's fine."

Lucy shook her head wearily. "Good. Perhaps you might want to prise Brennus off Bors and Lancelot; we've only got one trained healer at the moment, it would be a shame if anything happened to him."

"You might be right." Tossing back her red hair and squaring her shoulders, Vanora stalked down the corridor.

_Good luck Bors, _Lucy muttered under her breath before unlatching the heavy door to Tristan's chambers and stepping inside.

The big room was cool and blessedly quiet once she had latched the door behind her. Aside from the light thrown from a few candles guttering in the draught from the window, the room was almost completely cloaked in shadow. For a moment Lucy recalled a similar room not so long ago - a man she had cared about laid lifeless and silent, guarded by a fierce scout with golden eyes and savage strength. Things had certainly turned upside down since then, she thought to herself. Settling herself down on the bed next to Tristan's, she tucked her legs under her and was almost unsurprised to find him watching her when she raised her head.

"Still wandering the fort alone," he said quietly. His face was expressionless, his eyes dark in the gloom, but there was an unmistakable rebuke in his words.

"I can take care of myself," Lucy replied, shifting a little against the pillow behind her. "The Saxons are defeated, the Woads are on our side - this is the safest it's been for a long time."

Tristan closed his eyes for a moment, and Lucy watched fascinated. Gold then black, then gold again. When he looked at her with controlled exasperation, she dropped her eyes.

"No such thing as safe, girl."

"You're safe here," she retorted. "Sometimes you have to trust other people."

"You are a child, you know nothing of what you speak." his words were dismissive, but he did not take his eyes from her. "Trust will get you killed."

Lucy narrowed her eyes in annoyance. She had bathed him, she had tended his wounds and he still seemed to think her some sort of idiot child. "Don't you trust me?" When he remained silent she slid off the bed and padded over to him. "Brennus saved your life but I cared for you. I washed you," she watched him flinch when she said that, but ignored it. "I woke you from your nightmares, I eased your fever. Don't talk to me of trust - you were the one helpless, I am not afraid of you."

"You should be, girl." He looked angry, and a couple of days ago Lucy would have quailed at the look in his eyes. Not tonight though, not tonight.

"Since you trust no-one and apparently I trust everyone, we should make a truce." She shot him a warning look when he grunted in annoyance, but continued. " You will be polite and promise not to throw me against any more walls, and I won't inflict any unnecessary suffering when I tend your wounds."

"Are you sure that you aren't Roman?" he muttered.

"Part Roman, part … lots of things. You can call me a mongrel if you like. Doesn't make any difference, I'm still the one looking after you."

He smiled so briefly that she almost missed it. But for a moment she saw something other than the ghost-hawk - Arthur's scout, the creature who brought terror to both Woads and Saxons. She echoed his smile without any of his reticence and slid off the bed. Picking up the water pitcher without being asked, she let him drink his fill. Vanora would have given him the tea that would ease his pain earlier, and his dressings did not need to be changed until the morning, but the hour was late and she was beyond tired. Curling up onto the spare bed sleep swept her away swiftly, and although he watched the slow passage of the moonlight gild first her hands and then her hair, Tristan had succumbed to slumber by the time she awoke in the morning.

**A/N Ah, well after worrying that Lucy is a Mary-sue, I've brought in another female oc - yup, I'm a masochist lol. Big thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. (Oh and Lady Arre, there'll be a familiar name in the next chapter lol).**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

Lucy winced as the daylight hit her tired eyes, and batted away the hand that shook her shoulder gently.

"Gerroff, m'wake." Yawning widely, she rubbed a hand over eyes still gritty with sleep and found herself looking at a rather amused Kyrie.

"Good morning." The dark-haired girl smiled and handed Lucy a mug of herbal tea. "I got worried when you didn't come home- I mean to your home. Vanora made the tea; it's good, I've already had some."

"Thanks." Lucy lifted the mug and took a cautious sip. The tea was very welcome; sweetened with a little honey and warm as it slid down her throat. Feeling a little more herself, she looked over towards Tristan's bed. The scout was still asleep, and following her gaze, Kyrie shrugged.

"It's alright, he hasn't woken yet. The rest'll probably do him good anyway."

Lucy nodded, twisting her tangled hair into a rough plait and tucking it back over her shoulders. She remembered the conversation that she and Tristan had had last night and bit her lip thoughtfully. She wasn't one for confrontation usually, and to be honest she was a little surprised at herself for daring to speak so forcefully to Arthur's scout. _Not that he had any choice in the matter, _she reminded herself, _after all it wasn't as though he could just get up and stalk away. _Kyrie seemed to have none of her reticence when it came to studying the injured man, Lucy thought with tired amusement. The younger girl put out a hand to touch the mess of braids that splayed out over the pillow before obviously thinking better of it and turning to the bedside table instead. Lucy had to strain to hear her as she poured water into the bowl that sat next to the pitcher, but there was no mistaking the undertone of her words.

"I've heard stories of him, stories of the things he's done. Are you sure it's safe to be alone with him Lucy?" Kyrie stepped away from the bed, knocking a couple of bandages to the floor. "Even the girls I worked with before were afraid of him - please be careful."

"That's pretty much the gist of what he's said to me before." The blonde girl slid off the bed and padded over to her companion. "He won't hurt me."

Kyrie picked up he bandages and looked at the sleeping man nervously. "He's a killer Lucy, some of the things the Romans say he's done…"

"He's a knight. Of course he kills, what choice does he have?" Lucy tried and failed to temper the rise of irritation within her. "You of all people should know what it's like to do things that you don't want to do."

Kyrie paled, and Lucy realised with horror the cruelty of her last words. "Kyrie, I didn't…. I'm sorry…."

The dark haired girl gave a brittle smile and backed away. "It's alright. I'd better see if Vanora needs me - there will be people looking for breakfast…" turning, she was out the door before Lucy could formulate a proper apology.

"Damn." Lucy swore quietly to herself as she sat down heavily onto the bed. She'd only been awake five minutes and she'd already hurt poor Kyrie - why didn't she ever learn to keep her mouth shut? Looking longingly at the rumpled blankets that she had tossed aside, she resisted the urge to go back to sleep, and instead tidied up as best she could. Once she had tended to Tristan then she would go and find the other girl and apologise properly, she told herself. And why _had_ she snapped at Kyrie? Because she had warned her about Tristan? That was stupid wasn't it? "You're going mad girl," she mumbled to herself.

"Indeed." The raspy voice next to her, made her jump, and Lucy swung around to find Tristan watching her calmly. "The first sign of madness is talking to yourself."

Lucy flushed, not sure whether to look away or feign defiance. "You talk to your hawk," she muttered.

"And she listens," he said simply.

"Right." Lucy shot a look at the empty windowsill. "Well she's not here at the moment, and I'll wager that she's not much use at changing bandages, so I'm afraid that you'll have to make do with me."

"As you wish lady." Although his words were polite and his expression as unreadable as ever, Lucy had the distinct feeling that he found her irritation amusing; something that did nothing to lighten her mood.

"Good." Stalking over the fireplace, she prodded the dying embers and carefully fed them with stripped tinder until the flames were leaping again, setting a pan of water to boil once the blaze had caught. There was no sign of Brennus which was a little worrying, but Kyrie would surely have said if he was ill. _Probably still exhausted after the bollocking he gave Bors and Lancelot,_ she thought with a reluctant smile. Carefully tipping the hot water into a more manageable bowl, she set it down on the table next to the little wrap of ointment and folded bandages that Vanora had left for her yesterday. And now came the difficult part.

"Are you able to sit up, or should I.." she didn't need to continue the sentence. Despite the pain it must have caused him, Tristan had pushed himself to a sitting position, the blankets that covered him sliding to his waist, his arms trembling as the weakened muscles tried to support his weight.

"Steady." Lucy quickly slid her hand under his shoulder and gently pushed him back down, trying to ignore the warm bulk of his body as she lowered him onto the pillows. "No need to.." Her mind , the things she had been about to say, abruptly ground to a halt when he lifted his free hand and tipped her chin up so that she was forced to look at him.

_Oh Gods. _His face was mere inches from hers, her heart thudding wildly against the solid wall of his chest, his golden eyes watching her intently. Slowly the long fingers traced a line from her chin up to her cheekbone and swept down again.

"Eyelash," he said softly.

Lucy blinked, and forced her eyes down to the long finger extended before her. Upon the calloused tip was a curlicue of dark hair - an eyelash that must have been resting upon her cheek.

"Make a wish," he said softly.

_How about my mind back? Or my common sense, or someone to tend to you instead of me? _

Lucy gave a wonky smile and huffed at the little hair, sending it spiralling away to join the dust bunnies under the bed before scrabbling away.

"Didn't think you'd be the superstitious type," she said quietly. Testing the temperature of the water in the bowl with a cautious finger, Lucy closed her eyes and willed her body into submission. He was her patient, he needed help, and he was not the sort of man that she was attracted to, she told herself fiercely. Swallowing hard and attempting to disguise it as a sneeze, she turned back to the injured knight. "I…"

Her words were cut of my the door to the chambers banging open and a very excited Vanora almost danced into the room.

"Lucy!" the red-head's eyes were shining with excitement, and although she paused a moment to note the younger girl's flushed cheeks and the way she had jumped away from the man on the bed as though she had been scalded, she refrained from commenting. "Go down to the courtyard, there's someone who wants to meet you."

"What?" Lucy put the bandage back down on the table and looked at Vanora in utter confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Go on, shoo." The tavern owner smiled and nudged her towards the doorway. "I'll take care of him," she gave Tristan one of her warm don't-argue-with-me smiles and nodded towards the window. "Go!"

Lucy, shrugged, gave a flustered half-curtsey to Tristan, managing not to look at him, and did as Vanora said. _What on earth had Vanora so excited? _she thought to herself as she hurried down the steps to the courtyard. Mentally she ticked off any possible causes in her mind_. Lancelot had been found with a naked pensioner again. Arthur had done… well some typically Arthur-like act of nobility, Bors had… oh! _There was a crowd gathered around the little group of people by the stables, but their identity was unmistakable. Only one man at the fort had hair the colour of summer wheat, and there was only one woman that he looked upon with such adoration.

"Llynya!" Sliding through the villagers, Lucy made her way towards the familiar shape of her friend. Turning at her shout, Llynya turned, and it became clear why Vanora had been so happy. Nestled in the dark-haired girl's arms was a bundle of cloth, a tiny hand peeking out and tangling in the bodice of it's mother's dress.

"Lucy." Llynya smiled almost shyly. "It is so good to see that you are well."

The younger girl brushed off the greeting, hurrying towards her friend and kissing her on the cheek, careful to avoid the baby in her arms.

"Enough about me. Who is this?" The baby frowned at her, and obviously finding her not particularly exciting, closed it's eyes.

"Lucy meet Taran, Taran meet Lucy." Llynya rolled her eyes when her son made no indication of waking. "It's been a long day," she whispered.

"I'll bet." Noting the dark circles beneath Llynya's eyes, Lucy tugged her back towards the stables and settled them both on a bale of hay. "When was he born?"

Llynya masked a yawn and rested her head back against the stable wall. "About an hour after I left this place." At Lucy's incredulous glance, she nodded. "I know, so much for keeping safe - I'd have been better off at the fort. Luckily Enid and Gwynne were with me," she nodded towards Vanora's sisters who were caught the glance and smiled back tenderly. "Luckier still that the Saxons were defeated."

Lucy nodded. "I don't think luck had much to do with it - you can thank Arthur, Gawain and the others for that."

"Indeed." Llynya smiled as Gawain turned around to check on her and gave him a wink. "Speaking of such things, who in the name of the Gods let him gallop off with a bloody great crossbow wound in his shoulder? He was in far worse shape than I was when he found us."

Lucy laughed and glanced at her friend. "At least he waited to be stitched up before he took off after you - Van actually had to drug him to make sure he got any rest at all."

"Idiot man." Llynya shook her head in exasperation. "One of these days…" Giving a wicked grin she shot a sidewise glance at Lucy. "What exactly did she drug him with?"

"Oh no. I'm not telling you that." Rising to her feet, Lucy kissed her friend on the cheek and smiled fondly at Taran's slumbering form. "Gawain's your problem."

Llynya laughed. "Come and see me tomorrow if you can. I'd welcome the company."

"I will." With a wave, Lucy made her way through the crowd, her previously dark spirits lightened considerably by her friend's good news. Gawain grinned at her as she passed, and she returned the smile. Llynya and Gawain made a handsome couple, and by the looks of things handsome babies as well. It was nice to think that in a few years time their son would be running around. For a brief moment she wondered whether any children of Tristan's would inherit his strange golden eyes, before shoving the thought away. _That_ was not something that concerned her, she told herself firmly.

Lucy was so pre-occupied with her thoughts that she barely registered the tap on her shoulder.

"Lucy?"

Turning, the blonde girl turned to see Kyrie behind her.

"Bors is looking for Vanora, have you seen her?"

"She's with Tristan." Lucy grabbed Kyrie's arm when she nodded and turned to leave. "I'm sorry. I was stupid, I wasn't thinking before."

"You didn't say anything that wasn't true." The words were soft but the bitterness beneath them was unmistakable. "Once a whore, always a whore." She tried to tug her arm away, but Lucy refused to let go.

"Maybe. But you've also been a healer - someone who saved lives, someone brave enough to face danger when everyone else fled. No-one's going to forget that either."

Lucy dropped her eyes. "I'll understand if…"

"If you move out of my house then I'll follow you and make you share your quarters with me." Lucy wrinkled her nose and was relieved to see a flicker of a smile tug at the corner of Kyrie's lips. "Aside from anything else I need the protection against the spiders."

Kyrie really did laugh then. "You can't be afraid of spiders!"

"Can, am, and would prefer it if the whole fort didn't know about it."

"Wuss." Kyrie whispered the word, glancing at the girl beside her to gauge her reaction.

"Too true," Lucy said ruefully. Together the girls walked towards the tavern, the chatter of excited voices behind them fading as they slid through the narrow alleyway to the main courtyard. Since the Romans had departed most of the quarters were abandoned and many of the stables empty. It seemed eerie to see somewhere that was usually so busy so desolate, Lucy thought to herself. Soft as their shoes were, the scuff of their feet seemed overly loud in the narrow alley, and when Kyrie gasped out loud, the two crows that had been pecking at the body in the shadows took flight in a cacophony of noise and a frantic beating of wings.

"Gods…" Hurrying forward, Lucy dropped to her knees before the small form that lay prone upon the ground. The boy, and it was a mere boy, she realised once her eyes had adjusted to the light, was sprawled half propped against the wall, an arrow piercing his chest, his eyes blank and glassy.

Kyrie dropped down beside her, fingers searching for a pulse that she already knew would not be there.

"He's just a boy," she whispered. "Who would do such a thing?"

Lucy shook her head in confusion. The boy was a Woad; even if his forearm hadn't been encircled with an intricate tattoo and his hair long and partly braided, the style of his clothing told her that much. Reaching for the arrow that had snuffed out the child's life, she froze as her fingers traced the familiar markings etched on the shaft. Markings that she had seen before, and had jokingly told their maker that surely it was vanity to sign his kills in such a way.

"Galahad," she whispered.

**A/N: Er cliffhanger - apologies. To Galahad lovers, well, let's just say that all is not as it seems… Thanks very much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and extra thanks to Lady Arre for helping me with names for Llynya's son. Of course if anyone wanted to review this chapter there's a little button on the bottom left of this " whistles innocently"**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

It was done. The woman watched the blonde girl return with the golden-haired knight and bend over the body of the young boy as silently as she had watched the child slain. Three decades of practice had allowed her to melt into the shadows and remain unobserved - a gift that had saved her life on many occasions, and in turn allowed her to take the lives of many others. But now… One of her own, if not by blood then creed, lay dead. A boy. An innocent, and she had stood by and watched it happen - had let it happen. There had been a moment when she could have prevented it; could have shouted out or run to the new king and explained. But now she was as damned as the man who had drawn the bow - for her part in this would not be overlooked, and retribution from her own kind would be even more savage than that of the Romans. Her fear for… _no, don't think his name, don't lest he find you, her mind whispered, _kept her silent, kept her watchful, and kept her loyal. Swords could slice, arrows bury into flesh and sinew, but there were worse things in life than pain or death. Things that were unnatural, things that had left others twisted wraiths or screaming banshees; things that her daughter would endure if one whisper of betrayal were ever linked to her name. Stepping back further into the darkness, she closed her eyes and turned away. First blood had been spilt, and with a wrenching twist in her stomach she knew that this would be only the beginning. The fragile peace that held this land would shatter, and the men who were the foundations for a new world would tear each other to pieces without any need for a battlefield. And if she were very lucky she would not live to see it happen.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Gawain?" Lucy managed to drag her eyes from the Woad boy's body, and looked at the knight for guidance. "Was I right to get you? I didn't know…" Her voice trailed off as her eyes once again rested upon the arrow protruding from the dead child's chest.

"Yes," he said distractedly, his fingers tracing the arrow shaft. "You were right to find me, Lucy." Getting to his feet, he pulled the girl up with him. "We can't leave the body here - we have to find out what happened first."

Lucy nodded. The alliance between Woads and the knights was tenuous - decades of slaughtering each other could not be entirely erased by a pact to defeat a common enemy that was now no longer a threat, and suspicion on both sides was still rife. Merlin had done what he could to pacify his people, and Guinevere's betrothal to Arthur had further strengthened the bonds between them, but the discovery of an unarmed boy slain by a Knight's arrow would provoke nothing less than all-out warfare. She watched as Gawain wrapped the body in his cloak and lifted it into his arms, wincing slightly as the exertion tugged upon the stitches in his shoulder.

"Lucy, find Arthur, tell him to meet me in the healing rooms. Aside from Tristan and Lancelot are they unoccupied?"

Lucy nodded swiftly. "Yes. There are several free rooms up there, and even Brennus probably won't be back yet. Vanora's there, but.." she didn't have to continue the sentence. Vanora would no more betray the knights than she would one of her children.

The knight nodded. "Good. It won't look so suspicious if I go up to see Tristan. Are the back stairs still unlocked?"

"No." Lucy fumbled at her waist and unhooked a key from her belt. "We locked it during the battle, I never got around to unlocking it." Passing the key to Gawain, she looked at him nervously. "Galahad wouldn't…"

"I know. Go." The blond knight nodded towards the courtyard and Lucy understood his meaning - time really was of the essence here. Turning, she hurried back towards the courtyard as quickly as she could without breaking into a run, glancing back at Kyrie and signalling that she would see her as soon as she could.

"What is your name?" Gawain looked at the dark-haired girl who was obviously as intimidated by him as the dead body, and stifled a sight of impatience. He had no time to be calming down skittish maidens, although form the dim recollection that he had of her, that probably wasn't the best way to describe the girl before him.

"Kyrie, sir." She met his eyes and he relaxed a little. The girl might be frightened but she at least seemed to have a little spirit. He nodded slightly in acknowledgement and attempted a reassuring smile.

"Kyrie, do you know where Galahad is?"

She frowned. "He was at the tavern last night; he was there until closing, he looked drunk when he left, but he didn't let Bors help him. He said that he was alright." She shrugged helplessly. "I suppose he went back to his rooms."

"Did he have his bow with him?" Such a simple question, but so much hung upon the answer, Kyrie thought sickly. Much as she would have liked to lie and salvage the reputation of the kind brown-eyed knight, there were too many people who had seen him that evening to be able to do so convincingly. "He had collected it from Balthos earlier," she said quietly. "It had been cleaned and re-strung. It was with him at the tavern."

Gawain sighed, and shifted the weight of the body in his arms. "Go, find him Kyrie. Tell him to come to the healing chambers, but don't say anything else; not to him or anyone else."

"Yes sir." Kyrie bobbed a curtsey and headed towards the knights' quarters, half afraid and half hopeful that Galahad would be asleep in his rooms.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lucy scurried up the stairs to the big tower in which Arthur resided, before pausing before the thick oak doors. Beyond them was the hallway that led to the king's quarters and conference rooms, but first she would have to explain herself to the guards that protected the inner sanctum. Pushing open the door, she took a deep breath. The hallway was narrow, the dark stone walls illuminated by the narrow slits in the stone which would enable archers to aim at enemies outside in relative safety. Beside the ornate door at the end of the passage, two men stood, well armed and obviously none too pleased to see her.

"Sirs." Drawing herself up to her admittedly diminutive height and squaring her shoulders, Lucy did her best to appear imposing. "I must speak with King Arthur."

"Really?" The guard to the left of her raised one eyebrow so high that it was almost lost under the sandy thatch of his hair. "And what would a tavern girl have to say to a king?"

_He had a point, _Lucy realised, belatedly realising that there was very little information that she could actually divulge except to Arthur. She would just have to brazen things out.

"I am here on the orders of Sir Gawain," she said firmly, "I have a message that Arthur alone may hear."

The guard looked at her disbelievingly. "And he sent _you?" _The contempt was unmistakable.

Lucy opened her mouth to argue, but before she could say anything, a quiet voice spoke behind her.

"Let her through Lukas. "

Turning, Lucy watched with disbelief as Guinevere crossed the short distance between them and gave a cool look to the blond guard. "I assure you, both I and the king are unlikely to fall at the hands of an unarmed girl." The beautiful Woad woman ran a practiced eye over Lucy, obviously checking for weapons, and gently nudged her forward when the door was reluctantly opened by Lukas.

"Go on then."

Lucy did as she was told. Guinevere seemed to have come out of no-where, she was a Woad, and she slid through the doorway with a grace that was almost ghostlike. Suddenly feeling horribly aware of her grubby dress and tangled hair, Lucy twisted her fingers into her skirts and willed herself to shrink somehow. She felt very much like a wild boar that had unexpectedly found itself next to the mythical golden hind. Guinevere noticed the change in the other girl's demeanour and gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, he doesn't bite."

Lucy quirked a smile and followed her through a room that looked to be study, lined with scrolls and weathered tables holding parchment and ink pots, through to a room hung with elaborate tapestries that shone in the light of the dying fire. Upon a big chair, half it's horse hair stuffing escaping from one arm, slumped Arthur. King of the Britons, huge, imposing and fast asleep.

"Wait a moment." Guinevere gave Lucy a grin that was far more reminiscent of a young woman in love than a future queen, and quickly crossed the room.

"Wake-up." She shook his shoulder gently, "you have a visitor."

The big Roman made a grumbling noise and yawned widely. Running a hand over Guinevere's cheek, he got to his feet and turned his attention to the other woman in his room. After studying her for a moment, he frowned in recognition.

"You work in the tavern don't you girl?" Lucy nodded, and his expression softened somewhat. "What is it that brings you here?"

"Sir Gawain sent me…" _Oh Gods, how was it that she was supposed to address him? Was it Sir? Or your highness? _

"Gawain?" Arthur didn't seem to have noticed the lack of propriety. "Is something wrong?" His green eyes flashed with concern, and Lucy relaxed a tiny bit.

"No Sir. It's Galahad. At least it might be." Arthur looked a little perplexed and Lucy continued nervously. "A boy has been killed - a Woad boy." Guinevere's intake of breath was harsh in the sudden silence, and the glance she shot Arthur was eloquent enough that even Lucy understood it's meaning. "The child was unarmed. The arrow that killed him was one of Galahad's."

"Impossible." Arthur took a step towards Lucy and she was hard pressed not to back away. "Galahad kill a boy? An unarmed boy?" He shook his head in denial. "Are you sure that the arrow was his."

"Yes." Lucy flicked her gaze between Arthur and Guinevere, unsure which of them were less intimidating. "It's his signature on the shaft, the feathers he uses are the same - I've seen him carving in the tavern before, he showed me what he was doing. Either he killed the boy, or…"

"Someone's trying to frame him," Guinevere said grimly.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Wake -up." Kyrie put a hand out to shake the bare shoulder of the man who lay spread-eagled on the bed, but snatched her hand away before she actually made contact with his skin. _Gods, come on girl - stop acting like a child. _She bit her lip impotently and tried to calm herself down. Galahad had been almost ridiculously easy to find - he hadn't even closed the door to his chambers, and she shuddered at the thought that had she and Lucy not stumbled upon the boy's body first, then anyone seeking retribution would have had little trouble slaughtering him in his sleep.

_The boy._ She had no love for Woads - nor for Romans particularly, but children were children whatever their creed, and to kill the truly innocent was a crime that demanded the harshest of punishments. The child had been unarmed, within the walls of the fort and supposedly under Arthur's protection. It was impossible to reconcile such a savage crime with the man who slept so peacefully on the bed before her.

"Galahad?" This time she found he courage to shake his arm, before dropping it swiftly. She was no stranger to the male form; she had closed her eyes the first time she had been given to a man, bitten and scratched the second and third times, but she remembered and stored away the little bits of information that might one day be useful, even as she tried to shove away the rest of the experiences. It didn't work like that - and why would it? after all nothing was simple.

Galahad's face was boyish in sleep, his eyes long lashed, his curls flopping over his forehead and the pillow, but his body was that of a man's and it was that that made Kyrie take a step backwards. Galahad had been kind to her before, he had treated her with respect and she could not deny that were she something other than she was, she would have been attracted to him. _But that is not who you are,_ she told herself firmly. _"You are a whore, and a failed one at that,_ and he…. She could not believe him a murderer. A killer, yes, for on the battlefield there was no real morality or justice - kill or be killed, it was the law of battle. But to kill an innocent boy, no matter what his creed? No. She could not reconcile the young man before her with such an evil crime. Biting her lip, she shook his arm more forcefully. They didn't have much time, and it was his testimony alone that would either save or damn him.

Galahad's eyes opened, and he knocked her hand away restlessly. Rising up into a sitting position, he squinted at the girl beside him, hiccupped and abruptly vomited over the other side of the bed.

_Wonderful. _Kyrie looked around the small room for something that might ease the young man's sickness, her eyes finally alighting upon a large jug next to a bowl that was presumably used for washing. Crossing the room and tasting the small amount of water in the bottom of the container, she found it fairly fresh and offered it to the hung-over young man. He took it wearily, taking a couple of gulps before returning it to her.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." Averting her eyes from his weary scrutiny of her, and answering the question in his eyes before he had time to voice it, she spoke hurriedly. "Gawain sent me to fetch you, it's important."

"Gawain? Is he alright?" He suddenly seemed more alert. "What's happened?"

Kyrie decided upon a half truth. "He wants you to go to the healing rooms, you'll have to ask him why."

"Tristan?" if it were possible the young man grew paler still, and had Kyrie had any last doubts about his innocence, then they fled when she met his worried eyes.

"No. It's not that. Tristan's er," fine wasn't the right word, but she couldn't think of much else. "He'll be alright, it's nothing to do with him, or Lancelot." Galahad swung his legs over the side of the bed and Kyrie flushed and turned away when it became clear that he was only wearing an old pair of baggy breeches. He was moving too slowly, and there wasn't any time to be lost. Spying a crumpled shirt tossed in the corner of the room, she picked it up and thrust it behind her. "Please. We have to go."

He didn't answer her, but from the rustle of cotton and the scrape of leather against stone, he had donned the shirt and was now putting on his boots. Turning to find him rumpled, but fully dressed, Kyrie opened the door and gestured for him to follow.

"Please sir, we have to go."

He didn't follow for a moment, merely looked at her with shadowed eyes. "Your name's Kyrie isn't it?"

She nodded, shifting from foot to foot nervously. "Please… we can't stay here."

He gave her a long searching look and reached back behind him. When he stepped through the door his sword was in his hand, and pretending to ignore it, Kyrie hurried down the stone steps towards the healing rooms, Galahad following close behind her.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tristan was not surprised to see Gawain entering his room - the man was one of the few people he could call a friend after all- but the burden he carried was certainly unexpected.

"Gods," he whispered as the blond knight unwrapped his grisly burden. "Who…" his words trailed off. He recognised the markings on the arrow that had snuffed out the boy's life: he himself had taught the man who had made them how to shoot, how to mark his kills. "Galahad?" Trying not to wince as he pushed himself up, he leaned closer to the corpse that had been laid on the bed beside him.

"If it's not, then someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to make it seem as though it was him," Gawain said grimly.

Before either of them had time to speak, Arthur strode into the room, flanked by Guinevere and trailed by a rather nervous Lucy.

"Gawain?" The big Roman glanced at the blond knight, and at his shrug turned his attention to the body on the bed.

"Goddess." Guinevere was faster, crossing the room with swift steps and touching the Woad boy's pale cheek with slender fingers. "Why?"

"Do you recognise him?" Arthur asked quietly, "was he of your tribe?"

Guinevere nodded. "His name is Syrus. His parents were…" she bit her lip and looked down, but the rest of the unspoken sentence hung heavily in the air. _His parents were killed by people like you._

"The arrow bears Galahad's mark," Tristan said quietly.

Arthur rubbed his hand over his face wearily, but before he could speak, the door to the chamber was once again pushed open. The somewhat pale and entirely unkempt figure of his youngest knight half staggered through the door, followed by a slender young woman. Blinking at the group of people, he seemed to visibly relax when his eyes rested upon Tristan.

"Gods." He yawned with weary relief. "From what she said," he gestured to the girl behind him, "I thought you'd died." Suddenly noticing the still form of the Woad boy on the other bed, his eyes narrowed. "Who's he?"

Arthur watched Galahad's bemusement carefully. "That, Galahad, is something that I hoped you could answer."

**A/N: Hmm, my plot bunnies don't wait until spring before they come a-leaping, hence the fact that this fluffyish Tristan story will now be a lot longer, not as fluffy, and in this chapter he's only in it for a tiny bit. Sorry, I won't abandon the fluff completely, and it will still be Tris-centric (ooh - new word), and I promise no tigers this time. Sorry about the page breaks too - apparently it's not just me that has problems with them at the moment, but I agree, they do look a bit odd. Thanks very much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

"Answer?" Galahad looked at Arthur in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Look at the arrow," the big Roman said quietly.

At his words, Galahad glanced back at the body, and his already pale face drained of what little colour it held.

"No." He took a step forward and touched the arrow shaft. "This is… I didn't." He turned to face Arthur, his eyes wide and panicked. "I didn't do this Arthur, he's a child for gods sake, I'd never…"

His voice trailed off, and he ran a trembling hand through his hair.

The king nodded and walked over to his youngest knight, placing a big hand on his shoulder. "I believe you," he said solemnly, "but you understand that this is a very serious matter."

"It's my arrow," Galahad muttered, "I don't understand."

"Looks like someone is trying to frame you," Gawain said quietly. "Do you know of anyone who wishes you harm? Someone that bears a grudge against you?"

Galahad shook his head. "Most of the Woads I imagine, but no-one specific. The boy is obviously a Woad, so obviously his killer wasn't - they wouldn't kill one of their own."

"No." Arthur sighed heavily. "I will speak with Merlin, this situation will have to be handled carefully. The last thing anyone needs is a return to all-out warfare."

"Unless that is the aim of whoever did this," Guinevere pointed out.

"And who would that benefit?" Gawain asked in confusion. "Life is better for everyone after the alliance; if it is shattered the only thing that they will have achieved is a whole lot of bloodshed."

"True." Guinevere nodded, but she bit her lip thoughtfully. Turning, she brushed a hand over Arthur's arm. "I will go and find Merlin," she said, and at his nod swiftly left the room without saying anything further.

Galahad watched her go and gave a half smile when Gawain clapped him on the shoulder.

"Don't worry pup, this'll all get sorted out."

"Who're you calling pup?" Galahad muttered. Looking around, he noticed that two of their number were missing. "Where are Bors and Lance?"

"Passed out cold next door," Gawain said with a smile. "Either from ale or shock at the bollocking Brennus gave them. Vanora's waking them up as we speak, and none to gently I imagine."

Lucy grinned at that statement and caught Kyrie's eye. Both girls had retreated to the fireside, a little overwhelmed by recent events, and unwilling to get in the way.

"I'm surprised you didn't hear it," she whispered to the dark-haired girl. "I thought Van could scold, but Brennus is in a league of his own."

Kyrie's lips twitched in a smile, but her eyes were fixed upon Galahad. The young knight had slumped onto the edge of Tristan's bed, his head in his hands. The scout had said nothing during the previous conversation, but one pale hand touched his friend's hand gently in an unspoken gesture of solidarity.

"Kyrie?" Arthur's sudden summons made her jump, and glancing over at the new king, she wasn't sure how to respond.

"Yes sir?" she gave a half curtsey to be on the safe side, and managed to slide her eyes away from the intimidating man that approached without being too obvious about it.

"Did you see anyone other than Gawain after you and Lucy found the body?" he asked. "did you speak to anyone?"

"No. No, sir. No-one spoke to me, and no-one came over to us." She paused for a moment. "In truth I do not know whether we were seen or not; it was dark back there and I kept my attention on the path that Lucy had taken. I'm sorry, if there had been anyone watching I'm not sure that I would have noticed."

"Alright." Arthur looked over at Gawain, who nodded at the unasked question. Nodding to the two girls, and touching Galahad's shoulder as he passed, the blond knight set off towards the tavern. Several guards were stationed there, two of them Woads - if anyone knew of gossip or rumour then they would. None of them there needed to be reminded of the ramifications if the dead boy had been seen with either Gawain or the two girls. The Woads followed Merlin, and he in turn had pledged his alliance to Arthur, but the killing of one of their own would not be taken lightly. Revenge would be exacted alliance or no, and once the killing started it would be difficult to stop.

"Arthur." Tristan's voice was quiet, but still demanded attention. "The girls found the boy in mid morning, the guards patrol there at midday. Most of them are Woads - they were meant to find the body."

The big Roman sighed and nodded. "You're right. The boy must have been killed very recently - The dawn patrol did not report anything unusual."

Something that might have been derision flickered across Tristan's face, and Arthur almost smiled. "They might not have your talent for observation Tristan, but I hand-picked them myself. They would have noticed a dead child in the alleyway."

"This was planned," the scout said softly. "The boy was shot through the heart. It was quick and clean, whoever killed him was calm and focussed."

"Yes." Arthur nodded and rubbed a weary hand over his forehead. "And that makes whoever it was that much more dangerous."

* * *

"This is… I don't know what this is, but it isn't right," Kyrie hissed to Lucy. "I haven't done anything wrong!" 

Lucy shrugged. She and Kyrie had essentially been placed under house arrest. Arthur was wary of retribution by the Woads, and given that both she and Kyrie would have been seen with the dead boy, it was possible that they were under threat. Vanora had Bors to protect her, Llynya had Gawain, but she and Kyrie had been cooped up in the healing rooms all day.

"It won't be for long," she said reassuringly. "I'm sure it will all be over soon." Dimly she wondered where she had learned to lie so well. Her brother was almost suicidally honest and she had never had much practice at deception. Nonetheless the false reassurance seemed fairly honest even to her own ears. In truth she had no idea what was going to happen. Guinevere had returned with Merlin swiftly, and although she was not privy to what had taken place when Arthur had led them back to his chambers, from the look on the king's face when he returned, the news was not good. The Woad wizard claimed the body of the young boy and took him away, presumably back to his people, but he looked at neither Kyrie or Lucy, and both girls ducked their heads when he passed by them. There was something about the old man that was distinctly unnerving.

Llynya brought food up for both her friends and the injured knights in the early evening - her eyes shadowed and her smile worried, Gawain following her and carrying his son and a rather large axe. Giving Lucy a brief hug, she quickly told both she and Kyrie what she knew, which unfortunately seemed to be very little. Someone had seen the girls with the dead boy, and anger was growing amongst some of the more unruly members of the tribe in which the boy had belonged to, but at the moment there seemed to be more confusion than an actual desire for revenge.

Arthur and Merlin were doing their best to assure both the villagers and the Woads that the boy's murder was not going to go unpunished, but beyond that there was little to say. Galahad would take the spare bed in Lancelot's room - an arrangement that provoked much muttering regarding snoring from both parties, and both Kyrie and Lucy would be escorted to their house by guards later in the evening.

"We'll just have to make the best of things," Lucy said quietly. "Arthur isn't going to let anything happen to us."

"Right." Kyrie glanced over at Tristan's sleeping face. "That's very reassuring."

"Come on." Lucy slid off the bed on which she and Kyrie had perched themselves. "It's already dark, there are guards outside waiting for us. Brennus will be back in a minute, we might as well make ourselves useful. "Which do you want, Lancelot or Tristan?"

Kyrie huffed wearily and flicked her eyes over to the unconscious scout. "The killer or the cad. I'll check on Lancelot, if you are alright looking after _him_."

"I'll be fine," Lucy said quietly. Kyrie's words might be harsh, but she knew that the girl was serious about caring for her charges, and held nowhere near the animosity she pretended towards the two knights. _Armour comes in many different guises, _she mused to herself, and the covert glances the girl had given to Galahad that morning had not gone unnoticed.

"If you need any help…" Kyrie paused at the doorway.

"I'll come and find you." Lucy smiled and waved the other girl away. "I'll meet you in the courtyard, the guards will be waiting by the entrance."

"Alright." With a _snick, _the door shut behind her, and Lucy was again left alone with Tristan. Twisting her hair and tucking it down the back of her dress, she lost herself in the familiar routine of boiling water, selecting the right jars of ointments and laying out everything that she would need upon the little table by the bed. The scout was either asleep or unconscious, and inwardly Lucy thanked the gods for that fact. She was tired and confused - she didn't like the idea that soldiers would be guarding her home tonight, but still the thought of her little bed was still a very welcome one. She was not in the mood for talking, not that Tristan ever seemed to be much inclined to do so, but even silent, he had a way of making her clumsy and self-concious.

She had barely tied the last knot upon the bandage that encircled the scout's chest and was reaching for the blanket to re-cover him, when the skin beneath her fingers hitched in a sharp inhalation and Tristan's eyes opened.

"Good evening." Lucy pulled the blanket up and nodded politely. She didn't look at the man on the bed, but she could almost feel his gaze burning into her. "I was just leaving."

"On my account?" The words were polite, and his low voice gave nothing away when it came to his state of mind, but Lucy hesitated nonetheless.

"It's dark, Kyrie is waiting for me."

"Then you should go." Lucy nodded, turning swiftly and suddenly so unnerved that she knocked the water jug by his bed on to the ground.

"Oh! I'm so sorry." Dropping to her knees she picked up the miraculously unbroken vessel and looked with dismay at the little river of water that flowed through the ridges in the floorboards. "I'll get you some more." Turning, she halted at Tristan's voice.

"You believe Galahad," he said quietly.

"Of course." Lucy dropped her head and tried not to fidget. "Galahad wouldn't kill a child."

Tristan exhaled softly and closed his eyes. "No. No, he wouldn't, but someone wants to make it seem as though he did." Despite his relaxed posture he seemed very tense, his thin lips pressed tightly together, long fingers curling slowly into the blankets that covered him. "You shouldn't be here, it isn't safe."

"I've got nothing better to do," Lucy replied, the attempt at a joke not so much falling flat as vaporising in the tension between them. "Nowhere is safe really, and Galahad wouldn't kill a child," she repeated. "He and… the knights kill when you have to." She looked at the scout defiantly. "I've heard the stories, he wouldn't do what they are accusing him of."

"And if the child were trying to kill him? What would he do then?"

"I.. he.." She looked up bewildered and lost for words. The scout watched her discomfort with narrowed eyes .

"I have killed men that were little more than boys, I have killed women and more men than I can count," he said softly, "as have the other knights. Would you have laid your pretty head down on the bed beside me last night if I'd have told you that before?"

Lucy swallowed hard. Tristan watched her with fathomless eyes, his face devoid of all expression. She did not doubt the things he had said - he was a killer, he was frightening sometimes, and even wounded and almost helpless he was extremely unsettling. For a moment she looked towards the window. The moon was a smudgy silver behind the clouds, and the stars were lost in the darkness.

"Why did you kill them?" she asked quietly. "Couldn't there have been another way?"

Tristain's face remained impassive, but his eyes were intent. "They would have killed me or my brothers," he replied quietly.

"Even the women? she whispered.

He didn't say anything, but slid the blanket that covered his chest down a little, tracing an old scar that traversed his collarbone and his chest. "I bade her run twice," he said softly. "She had green eyes and dark hair. She picked herself up out of a pool of her own blood, and when she attacked me for the third time I ended her life." He met Lucy's eyes and gave her a twisted smile. "Kill or be killed. That is the law of battle. Walk away and do not look back."

"Liar," she whispered. "You remembered her, you remembered her eyes and the colour of her hair. You killed her and she killed a part of you. It was her life or yours, but you look back. You remember." Walking towards the bed, her chest tight and her muscles trembling, she lifted his hand from the blanket and brushed her lips over the scarred knuckles. "You are free now."

"Lucy…" his words were soft, almost a sigh. Releasing his hand and looking up at his face, she fought the urge to gather him against her. _Lost, so lost_, those golden eyes.

"You meant to die didn't you?" she whispered. "You meant for the Saxons to kill you."

Tristan didn't blink, didn't move, but it was though something inside him abruptly slammed shut, leaving only the familiar blank façade.

"You should go," he said tersely. "It's late."

"It is," she nodded almost to herself. "It's too late."

There wasn't any air in the room anymore, there wasn't anything left but exhaustion and unspoken sorrow. Picking up the almost empty pitcher from the table beside his bed, Lucy walked to the other side of the room and refilled it sloppily with the bucket in the corner. Placing it on the table beside Tristan's bed, she gave him a nod and turned away. Later she wouldn't understand why she had done it, and certainly wished that she hadn't, but those doubts came afterwards. The latch on the door had been slid back, the cool breeze that ruffled her hair and cooled her hot face welcome as it gusted through the staircase. Abruptly turning, Lucy crossed the room in five swift steps and ducked her head to the man on the bed, brushing her lips against the tattoos on his cheekbone with more defiance than tenderness.

"I'm not afraid of you," she whispered as much to herself as the man on the bed. "I won't let you make me hate you." Drawing away abruptly, she walked back to the door as swiftly as she could without actually breaking into a run, and kicked it shut behind her. The thud as the heavy timber fell back into place was loud in the darkness, and Lucy took a moment to gather her wits. Nothing made any sense - Galahad who had never been anything but kind was accused of murdering a child, Tristan who was a killer, and made no attempt to hide the fact, was… what? Human? Terrifying? Unnervingly attractive? Lucy pushed the last thought away and made her way down the stairs, keeping one hand out to steady herself against the wall. Her candle had been left back in the scout's room, and falling and breaking her neck was a far more attractive prospect to going back there, she thought darkly.

Preoccupied as she was, it took several steps before she realised that she was tracking something wet and sticky towards the doorway, and even though her eyes had adjusted somewhat to the gloom, it took a moment before she realised that what looked like a sack of grain dumped beside the doorway was in fact a person.

"Hello?" Lucy approached the slumped figure warily. "Are you alright?" _Probably someone passed out drunk, or one of the watchmen too tired to go back to his quarters, _she thought. Even as those explanations flitted through her mind the copperish smell in the small stairwell seemed to become stronger, the unease that she had felt before threatening to bloom into all out panic. Dropping to her knees, she knocked the door open with her shoulder, casting a little more light upon the person in front of her. Dimly she felt the still warm seep of blood, and it was blood, she realised with horror, soak the bottom of her dress, and turned the body around. Long dark hair covered chalk-white skin, dark lashes closed over familiar brown eyes. Lucy whimpered in distress, unable to speak, although the name of the woman screamed through her mind.

_Llynya._

**A/N: Sorry, another cliffhanger - I can't help it honestly, the story just comes out that way. Thanks very much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N Nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

"Lynya?" Lucy pushed back her friend's hair, her hands shaking so much that it took a moment before she found the pulse point beneath her throat. _Come on Llynya, don't be dead, don't be dead,_ the words tripped through her mind like a mantra, _don't be dead. _For a moment that seemed to stretch and encompass several lifetimes, there was nothing. Llynya's skin was warm and soft, but there was no flutter beneath her fingers to indicate that her heart was still beating. Lucy whimpered, her hand sliding against the skin beneath her palm, and then there it was. A pulse. Faint, but there, definitely still there. Dropping her cheek to the other girl's face, she gave a slightly hysterical giggle when she felt the gentle whisper of breath against her skin. "Stay there, Llynya, stay alive." Struggling to her feet, Lucy looked around wildly. She needed help, and she needed it fast. _Kyrie was upstairs, as were the injured knights. The guards, there were supposed to be guards outside. They would have light, they would be able to take Llynya upstairs fastest. _Even as she pushed the door open and screamed for help, something in the back of her mind realised that something was very wrong. _Wouldn't they have heard what had happened?. _Bounding down the two steps that led to the courtyard, her foot caught something, and unable to save herself, she fell heavily onto the stone flagstones below. Momentarily winded, she could do nothing but struggle for air, rolling herself on to her front and eventually managing to get her knees under her. Still out of breath, she was unable to cry out when she looked back at whatever it was that had tripped her. One of the guards that had been stationed to guard the healing rooms lay prone on the steps, his head lolling back lifelessly, an arrow protruding obscenely from his throat. Beside him, almost completely hidden in shadow, another figure lay, unidentifiable but for the gleam of his sword. A Roman sword. Lucy scrambled to her feet in panic. The guards were dead, Llynya was badly hurt - what was going on?

Stumbling slightly, she looked around wildly, but could see no-one in the darkened courtyard. Several braziers burned, casting shadows across the buildings, but not enough light to illuminate any number of places where a killer might conceal themselves. The faint noise of a boot against stone came from behind her, and picking up her skirts, Lucy took the only option left to her - she ran. She raced across the cobblestones, hair flying, skidding around the corner and down the dark alleyway beyond with a speed that Tristan's hawk would have envied. Her breath burned in her lungs, her heart thundered louder in her ears than her pounding feet, and every moment she expected to hear the twang of a bowstring, to feel the impact of an arrow slamming into her flesh. Jumping a low water trough, she saw the light of the tavern ahead, and willed her body faster. Slamming into the door, she knocked an elderly man to the floor and skidded into a table, looking around frantically.

"Lucy?" Bors retrieved the mug that had been knocked into his lap when the girl had crashed into his table, and looked at her in consternation. "What's wrong?"

Lucy gasped for breath, steadying herself against a chair. Never before had she thought the rough knight handsome, but at that moment he was the most beautiful thing that she had ever seen.

"Healing house. Guards are dead, Llynya's hurt. Don't know who." She grabbed his arm and tugged it desperately. "Help."

Bors moved with a speed that belied his size. "Euan!" he yelled at a middle aged man seated at a table with a group of younger men. "We got trouble."

The man nodded, his eyes flicking towards Lucy. Barking an order at his companions, he drew his sword, the younger men following his example. Most of the other patrons watched these sudden events in silence, however a few, obviously also guards, stood and looked at Bors for guidance.

"Van!" the burly knight bellowed, "get in here."

The red-haired woman, rushed from the kitchen, a cloth in one hand , a pitcher in the other.

"What?" her eyes widened when she saw Lucy, and shoving both items onto the sideboard, she hurried over. "Lucy? Love, what's wrong?"

"Get Gawain and Arthur," Bors said before Lucy could speak. "We're under attack, Llynya's hurt, don't know much else yet."

"Llynya?" Vanora's eyes widened. "But…"

"God's woman, go!" her lover bellowed. "James, Tobias, you go with her." He nodded at two stocky men who drew their swords and rushed to the tavern owner's side. "Arthur, Gawain, now."

Vanora nodded, giving one last glance back at Lucy, before hurrying out the back door, the two men close behind her.

Lucy swallowed hard. Her legs were shaking, whether from exertion or panic she wasn't sure, but she managed to take a couple of steps towards the door.

"Stay back." Bors grabbed her arm, almost lifting her off the ground as he pushed her behind him. "You see anyone between here and the healing rooms?"

Lucy shook her head. "No, at least I don't think so."

"Right." The big knight wrenched one of the torches off the wall, and hefted his sword into his hand. "We stay close," he barked to the men behind him. "Bring what light you can and keep together."

Several men followed Bors's example and pulled blazing torches off the wall, before following the knight outside. All were armed and seemed experienced in battle, Lucy noticed gratefully, but they were going too slowly. Fidgeting, she almost ran into Bor's back, and then into a soldier's side when she tried to slow her pace. After what seemed like forever, but was in fact only a couple of minutes, they reached the courtyard. The torches lit the darkness and illuminated the shadows, but this time there was no-one there, nothing stirred, including the two bodies on the stairway.

Bors swore softly under his breath, and motioned for two of the soldiers holding torches to check the hallway of the healing house, grabbing hold of Lucy when she tried to race past him.

"Wait," he growled, only releasing her when one of the men shouted out that it was clear. As soon as he let go, Lucy raced up the stairs, throwing herself down next to the girl slumped by the door. She could see her surroundings better now. One of the soldiers crouched beside her, his torch lighting up Llynya's pale face. It was obvious that the wounded girl was still breathing; her chest rose and fell softly, but there was an awful lot of blood. Running her hands over her friend, Lucy looked for injuries. There was no arrow shaft to be seen, and although the front of her dress was soaked in gore, there was no rip in the cloth that would indicate a stab wound. Turning her attention to Llynya's arms, Lucy winced as she found a deep gash upon her forearm. It was bleeding freely, and so deep that the faint gleam of bone could be seen through the torn flesh.

"Belt," Lucy said tersely to the man beside her. "I need it."

The man looked rather taken aback, but after handing her his torch, he undid the buckle and slid it from around his waist.

"Thanks," Lucy muttered as she took it from him. Tying it tightly around Llynya's arm as a makeshift tourniquet, she crouched back and gently turned her friend's head . The darkness of her hair made the blood hard to see, but the swelling was unmistakable. Something or someone had hit her hard, rendering her unconscious.

"She going to be alright?" Bors looked down worriedly at the lifeless girl.

Lucy brushed a lock of damp hair from her eyes. "I don't know. Help me get her upstairs, and send someone to fetch Brennus. He was over old Alice's place last I heard."

"You heard the girl," he said to one of the younger soldiers who was looking at Llynya with undisguised shock. "Get going." The youth nodded and took the proffered torch from Bors before hurrying back into the darkness. Bending down, the big knight scooped Llynya into his arms with little effort and started towards the staircase.

"Bors?" Galahad descended the stairs two at a time, obviously confused at the sudden activity. "What's going on?" A rather wobbly Lancelot was close behind him, half supported by Kyrie, who immediately recognised the identity of the woman in Bors's arms.

"Llynya? Goddess…" releasing Lancelot who had to make a grab for the stair rail to prevent himself falling over, she darted down the steps. "What happened?"

"No time." Lucy slipped past Bors and grabbed her hand. "We need to get things ready. Almost shoving her back up the stairs, she took a last look back at Llynya's unconscious face and ran towards Tristan's room. Shoving open the door, she almost knocked over the scout, and had react very swiftly to prevent them both from falling to the floor. Breathless and frightened, she grabbed him around the chest, wincing at his muffled groan.

"Careful," she gasped. Half carrying him back to the bed, she noticed that he had his sword in his hand._ What in the name of the goddess does he think he's going to do with that? _she thought dimly. Kyrie grabbed one of his arms and helped settle him back on the bed, hurrying back to big chest where the medical supplies were kept at Lucy's nod.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" Lucy hissed to the man in the bed. "I've got enough to worry about without you passing out on the floor." Turning, she made to go to Kyrie, but found her wrist snared by slender fingers as strong as steel.

"What's happening," Tristan asked quietly.

"Guards are dead, Llynya's hurt, I don't know what's happening. Let go."

"You're bleeding." Something flickered in his strange golden eyes, and he made to sit up.

"What?" Pulling her hand from his grasp, Lucy realised that she must be covered in Llynya's blood. "It's not mine. Please, just stay there, don't make me worry about you as well."

Several soldiers noisily shoved their way into the big room, Bors behind them, and Llynya gestured towards an empty bed. "Put her down there."

Carefully unrolling Llynya's sleeve, Lucy forced herself to remain calm.

"Kyrie, can I have one of the big dressings and a couple of bandages?" she asked quietly. "Bors, there's a bowl of water by the fireplace and a couple of cloths. Can you bring them over please." He nodded and did as she asked, Kyrie scuttling over with the requested provisions and taking the bowl that the big knight handed to her.

"What happened?" the dark haired girl asked. "Has she been stabbed?"

Lucy shook her head. "No. Nasty bump on the head and this," Kyrie winced as Lucy cut away the sleeve of Llynya's dress. "We need Brennus, I've never stitched anyone up before. Unless you.."

Kyrie shook her head. "Sorry. Where is Brennus, should I go and find him?"

Lucy shook her head. "No need, someone's already gone." Dipping a cloth into the water, she squeezed it out and carefully cleaned the gash in Llynya's arm, before wadding up one of the dressings and bandaging it tightly against the wound. The bleeding had almost stopped, but it was difficult to tell how much blood she had lost, and the blow to her head was a worry. Lucy, washed her fingers and grimaced as the clear water clouded crimson. Not for the first time she was very much aware of just how limited her healing skills were. The sound of muffled shouting echoed in the hallway, and both Lucy and Kyrie looked up hopefully. _Brennus?_

Gawain shoved the two soldiers by the doorway aside, and brushed off Galahad without even looking at him. His eyes were wild as he approached the bed, and even Lucy took a step backwards.

"Llynya?" he looked down at the woman on the bed in horror. "Love.." Reaching out, he touched his fingers to her cheek, before withdrawing them as though afraid of hurting her further. "What happened?" he demanded, "is she… she isn't…"

Lucy met his eyes and tried to find something to say. She was very fond of the big blond knight, and seeing the pain in his eyes was horrible to see.

"She's alive Sir. We're waiting for Brennus - she has a gash on her arm that needs stitching, and a nasty bump on her head, but…"

"But she'll be alright?" It was more of a threat than a question, and noting the hesitation on Lucy's face, he dropped his eyes to the woman he loved, engulfing her hand in his far larger ones. "Where is Brennus? You get that sorry bastard here now or I…"

"Enough boy." Brennus stalked through the door, followed by the soldier who had been sent to find him. "Save your anger for those that did this." Taking a look around at the crowded room, he gestured to the large group of soldiers that didn't seem to know quite what to do with themselves. "Go. Go and make yourselves useful - you can't do anything in here." Within moments the room was empty save for him, the three girls and the five knights. "Much better," Brennus muttered, gesturing for Galahad to close the door behind him, "could hardly hear myself think."

"Will she be alright?" Gawain repeated desperately, shaking off the comforting hand that Bors had laid upon his shoulder.

The healer didn't look up, but his words were not unkind. "Let's have a look at her - settle down, you're no good to her like this."

Gawain gave the old man a murderous look, but let go of Llynya's hand and let Lancelot nudge him towards the low bench that ran along the wall. Lucy stepped back when Brennus motioned her to do so. His keen eyes had already made an assesment regarding the woman on the bed, his deft fingers checking her wounds and gently measuring her pulse and breathing. Watching as he bit off a length of cat-gut to stitch with, Lucy looked behind her, to find somewhere to sit. Tristan watched her quietly, and didn't move when she walked over and settled herself on the side of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, glancing down at his uncovered chest to see if any blood was seeping through the bandages. "Did any of your stitches tear?"

"No."

Lucy nodded, not particularly keen to talk much either. Looking around the room, she studied Gawain, flanked by Bors and Lancelot, the way in which the blond knight watched Brennus work intently. Galahad was perched on a nearby bed, Kyrie beside him, and were she not so tired and frightened, that would have been cause for at least a raised eyebrow at her friend. Tristan was warm and solid behind her, and he didn't talk; it was oddly comforting. For a while she did nothing but watch Brennus work, idly watching people come and go. Arthur spoke to his knights and later she wondered if she had should have curtseyed or at least gotten up off the bed when he entered the room. Vanora had come and spoken to her, but few of the words had penetrated. Taran was being looked after by her sisters, the guards had been doubled, the arrows that had killed the guards were Woadish in style - and what did that mean? was it retaliation for the Woad boy? She tried to hold on to the information, tried to be clear and concise when Arthur had asked her what she had seen, but she was too tired to even be nervous of him, and words suddenly seemed clumsy things that didn't want to fit together. He had thanked her for help, although it was more out of kindness than gratitude for useful information, and Lucy had gone back to her quiet trance-like state.

"She'll be alright lad," she heard Brennus said to Gawain, and managed to smile. Llynya looked like she was sleeping now that the blood had been washed from her skin, and with Gawain crouched beside her, his golden hair curling onto her chest, they looked like something out of one of the old stories Vanora told her children.

"Pretty," she murmered.

"Lucy, go to sleep." Tristan's voice was so low that it didn't make her jump, and blearily she turned to look at him. "Lucy, you're exhausted, go to sleep."

Blinking, she looked at the empty bed on the far side of the room. It looked a very long way away, as though it were on the other side of the world. When Tristan placed a hand on her side and tugged her down beside him , she vaguely thought that she should protest - but it was hard to remember why, and he was warm, the bed was soft - she was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

**A/N: Come now, you didn't really think that I'd kill Llynya did you? I hardly ever, well only sometimes, well quite often kill off my oc's lol. I hope the quick update helps with any distress caused. Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - sorry for not replying to any of you - I couldn't really without giving the plot away… In answer to a couple of questions, no, I'm afraid Lancelot won't be paired off in this story - it's already complicated enough - maybe in a future story.. More about the mysterious Woad woman and the "baddies" in the next chapter. Thanks again - let me know what you think if you have a spare couple of minutes. Oh and on a completely different tangent - try searching for King Arthur on you tube . Com - there are some scrummy vids of the knights on there : )**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

_Warm_. That was the first thing that Lucy's sluggish mind made sense of. Warm, comfortable and safe. Sighing, she nuzzled her cheek against the scratchy blanket beneath her and snuggled deeper into the bedclothes. She was tired, so tired, and whatever it was that she should probably be thinking about could wait until later, or at least until someone came to haul her out of her perfect little haven.

"Lucy?"

The voice did not so much come from beside her as under her, and Lucy reluctantly lifted her head.

"Hmm?" Opening her eyes, it took a moment to work out what she was looking at. Smooth pale skin with a dusting of dark hair, sharp collarbones, a graceful neck. Peeking upwards, she found herself looking into Tristan's eyes, and almost fell off the bed in her haste to scramble away.

"Steady." Grabbing hold of her forearm, the scout caught Lucy before she tumbled headfirst on to the stone floor, pulling her back onto the bed. She gave him a furtive sideways look and carefully tucked her hair behind her, the feigned poise unconvincing even to herself. Her cheeks were flushed, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird in her chest, and even as she tried to free herself, she could not help but think how _right _it had felt to wake up next to the man beside her. Attempting to free her legs several times from the hopeless tangle of blankets around them, she finally gave up any attempt at aloofness and tugged each limb free awkwardly, sliding around to perch uncomfortably on the side of the bed. Save for Llynya who seemed to be still unconscious, and the blond knight wrapped around her and fast asleep, the room was empty, Lucy realised, looking around for an excuse to leave.

"Are you alright?" The low voice was not unkind, but Lucy could not bring herself to look at the man behind her. _I slept beside him, I slept with my head upon his chest.. _She swallowed hard, dipping her head and letting her hair cover her face. Embarrassment, awkwardness and something hot, sweet and wholly unfamiliar battled within her, and she said the only thing that came to mind.

"I'm sorry."

He was silent for a moment, and Lucy fidgeted, not sure if she was waiting or dreading for him to answer her.

"For falling asleep, or for falling asleep beside me?" he asked quietly.

_What? _Lucy turned her head slightly so that she caught a glimpse of Tristan's face out the corner of her eye. "I er…" she hunted desperately for something to say that wouldn't sound insulting or idiotic. "I should not have caused you discomfort by taking up room on your bed," she said finally. "If you would excuse me…" She made to slide away, only to feel the fingers that still encircled her arm tighten.

"Are you really so afraid to look at me?" Tristan asked quietly.

Lucy shook her head, turning and meeting his eyes defiantly, a little annoyed at his implication. "I'm not scared of you - I've told you that before."

"I see." He didn't seem angry, didn't seem anything but his usual impassive self, but his fingers loosened a little on her arm, his thumb rubbing a small circle on her pulse point. "There is no shame in falling asleep Lucy."

"No." She bit her lip thoughtfully and let herself study Tristan's face. He looked pale and too thin, the already sharp cheekbones casting deep shadows against his hollow cheeks, the slanted watchful eyes weary. "Just as there is no harm in accepting comfort when it is offered."

He frowned a little at her words, but she spoke before he could ask her what she meant.

"Why are you so sad Tristan? Arthur is king, the Saxons are defeated, and you are free," she whispered. "Lancelot, Galahad, Gawain - all your brothers fought beside you, but they do not have the same shadows in their eyes. You lived when all thought you dead. You are a legend already. Is it really such a curse to be alive?"

She dropped her eyes, a little surprised at her daring, but when he released her arm and took her hand, she did not flinch. He studied her hand as though he had not seen anything like it before, long calloused fingers tracing the creases upon her palm. Unable to speak, Lucy watched him wide eyed as he continued his exploration.

"There is no blood upon your hands Lucy. These hands have healed, these hands have soothed." He brushed her knuckles with his lips, and she bit back a whimper. He looked at her intently, and she suddenly felt like one of the rabbits stunned by Danny's slingshot; aware of danger but unable to escape it. "I have no right to be alive child, there is nothing left for me here."

Lucy blinked back tears and tightened her fingers around his hand. "I'm glad that you are here," she said softly, "I'm glad that you are alive." She leant forward almost unaware of what she was doing, her lips brushing his high forehead, his breath warm and soft against the hollow of her throat. One of his hands settled gently against her back, and for a moment it was as though nothing else existed. The sudden noise at the window startled them both, and Lucy scrambled off the bed guiltily.

"Isolde."

"Isolde..?" Following Tristan's gaze, Lucy saw Tristan's hawk land gracefully upon the windowsill. Cocking her head, the bird shook her wings as though shaking the kinks from her muscles, and swooped towards her master at the scout's low whistle.

"Hey," Tristan asked softly. "Been hunting?" Unsurprisingly the hawk did not answer, instead stretching it's head forward so that he could ruffle the feathers beneath her neck, her tawny plumage glowing gold in the morning light.

"She's a beauty," Lucy said quietly, admiring the graceful bird. "Do you think that she's hungry? There's some stew over by the fire if you think that she'd like the meat from it."

Tristan gave her the closest thing to a smile that she had ever seen. " I'm sure that she'd appreciate it."

Slithering off the bed, Lucy padded over to the fireplace. The embers were barely glowing, but she supposed that hawks weren't too fussy over the temperature of their meals. Picking out the lumps of lamb from the half congealed pot of stew, she wiped her fingers on an old blanket and headed back to the bed. Gawain and Llynya had not stirred, although she narrowed her eyes at the pair as she passed, feeling a flicker of relief as she saw the steady rise an fall of the dark haired girl's chest. _Best to let them both sleep,_ she thought to herself. The way things were going at the moment there might not be much time for resting in the future.

Tristan did not look at her as she approached, his attention seemingly fixed upon the hawk that perched upon the bedstead beside him. They seemed to be communicating in some strange silent private way, and Lucy hesitated for a moment before continuing forward. They were two wild things, and she had the feeling that were he able to, Tristan would have vanished with his hawk into the forest.

"Here," she said quietly, offering the bowl to him. The scout took it with a nod of thanks, but when Lucy meant to back away, he reached out with his other hand and caught her sleeve.

"Wait." Tugging her forward, he gave her a half smile, golden eyes amused beneath the tangle of braids that brushed his cheekbones. "Will you not greet your guest?"

Lucy looked at him uncertainly. "I er…" The hawk was beautiful, but it's beak looked awfully sharp, and given that her experience with birds had been limited to chickens and the bad tempered goose that her brother refused to cull, she wasn't quite sure what to do.

"Here." The scout took her hand gently and placed a chunk of meat upon her palm. "She won't hurt you."

Lucy nodded, in truth that was all that she could do. Ignoring the warmth of Tristan's fingers, the golden eyes intent upon her, she brought her hand up towards the hawk hesitantly. The bird cocked it's head and snapped its head down so swiftly that she did not have time to flinch. Isolde made short work of the morsel, eying the girl in front of her in the hopes of more. Lucy grinned, meeting Tristan's eyes as he gave her another piece of meat. "She's beautiful." This time she was braver when she offered Isolde the meat, even daring to fun a finger over the silky plumage of her breast. "So beautiful."

"Aye," he said quietly, watching her. "She is."

When the meat was gone and Isolde's hunger sated, Lucy wiped her hand upon her skirts and picked up the bowl that had held the remains of the stew.

"Thank-you," she said quietly, reaching out once again to touch the hawk's plumage. Glancing back at Tristan who had not spoken throughout the time she had fed his bird, she smiled gently. "She waits for you, she needs you. Vanora said that she followed you from the battlefield and killed the crows that perched upon the healing house roof. What is that if not devotion?"

"Killing crows is devotion?" he raised an eyebrow at the girl before him. "I pity your suitors."

"Hmm." She smiled a little at that. "Were there any to pity then I'm sure that you'd be right. I have to go - Vanora and Kyrie will probably be wondering where I am." Frowning as she tried to tidy her hair, she nodded to Tristan; a strange stiff formal movement that seemed a little silly given that she had all but kissed him earlier. "Goodbye."

She had taken three paces towards the door before his voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Will you be back later?" It was said gruffly, but turning, Lucy noted the tension in him as he half raised himself from the bed and nodded.

"Alright." Walking swiftly towards the door, she closed it behind her and stared blankly at the shadowy stairwell; confused, frightened and strangely exhilarated.

**A/N A short interlude that seemed to work better as a separate chapter. Next chapter up in a couple of days. Thanks very much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - glad that you are enjoying this so far Goddess **


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

Tristan watched the door shut behind Lucy and slowly lay his head back down on to the pillow. He was good at reading signals - could warn of rain before the first clouds gathered on the horizon, could track a man with little more than the occasional broken branch to guide him, but never had he felt so completely lost. He wasn't sure why he had asked Lucy to return - was in truth a little embarrassed at how desperate he had sounded, but the words had come before he had been able to check them and now there was no taking them back. She was not afraid of him, was not afraid to show exactly what she was feeling, to reach out and touch that which she knew was dangerous. What he would not give for a little of that courage.

The pillow still retained a little of her fragrance and for a moment he closed his eyes and imagined that she was still next to him. He had bade her sleep out of selfish reasons masked by concern - if he had been more honourable he could have asked Galahad to carry her to the other bed, but he hadn't wanted to. He hadn't wanted to lose the warm comfort of her, he hadn't wanted her to be anywhere but curled up next to him. He had woken to her sweet face resting upon his skin, childlike and innocent in slumber despite her bloodstained clothing. She had flung one arm over him and nuzzled his bare skin when she had awoken, and if he had any doubts before regarding his desire for her, his body's response to such intimacy had made things uncomfortably clear. He pushed the thought away, wrestling it into one of the dark recesses of his mind where he kept the few other things in his life that threatened to shake his self control. Lucy was not a whore, she was not someone whom he could take roughly in attempt to release pent up arousal and frustration. She was an innocent; probably a virgin, certainly someone who needed tenderness and understanding. What she did not need was a battered scout with a taste for bloodshed and a heart of ice. Feeling slightly sick, Tristan watched Isolde swoop gracefully towards the window, pausing on the sill to preen an errant feather, before disappearing into the pale morning light. Other than Arthur and his fellow knights, the hawk was the one thing that he allowed himself to feel what he supposed might be love for. She came and went, was a loyal companion, but he knew that were he to fall in battle then after a few weeks she would carry on without much thought to him. There would be no grief, no blame, none of the lying awake at night wondering if had his blade been faster, his arrows truer, that he tormented himself with every time one of their number fell, for her. The other knights joke about his bird, but he has never really minded. It is a strange comfort to know that someone chooses to seek him out; that he matters as something other than a body and a blade, even if it is only to a bird.

Gawain grumbled in his sleep, and Tristan turned his head to study the blond knight. Llynya hasn't shown much sign of waking, and inwardly he wonders if she ever will. He hopes so, as much for Gawain's sake as hers. Llynya is a good woman and good for Gawain. Loss is nothing new for any of them, but love is a rare thing and seems to burn brighter for all it's rarity - it would be a cruel world indeed if it were to be extinguished so unmercifully. With a rueful smile he turned his head away. Mercy was in even shorter supply than love for men like him. Placing one hand on the still warm place next to him on the bed, he tried and failed to will himself back to sleep.

* * *

Arthur stretched wearily and stifled a groan as his cramped muscles protested the movement. He had eaten little and slept less in the past twenty four hours, and his body was making it's displeasure known. Idly he ran his eyes over the huge round table in front of him. It seemed much bigger than it usually did now that he was alone in the room; Merlin and several advisors from both his and the Woad camps having left several minutes ago. For some reason he had remained, desiring a moment to think and consider his options in peace. The table was a reminder of the cost of bad decisions, of the repercussions of war - every empty space the shadow of a brave knight, most of whom were long since dead. He would not surrender this fragile peace if there was any way to prevent it, but at the moment even the spokesmen for the more rebellious Woad tribes seemed as ignorant of what was happening as he did. Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his face and rested his forehead on his palm. Both Woads and villagers were being murdered for no real reason and by an enemy that was yet to show itself. At present Merlin had managed to keep his people from any overt displays of hostility, but discontent was brewing, and it would not take much to spark a full- on rebellion. The past was still too fresh for both sides, and decades of hostility would mean that another truce would probably be unachievable if this one shattered.

"Arthur?"

He looked around swiftly, startled at the sudden voice, and smiled ruefully at his young bride.

"Frighten me like that again woman and you'll find yourself a widow before we've been wed a year."

She gave a quiet laugh and walked towards him, settling herself on his lap and cuddling herself against his chest.

"I think not, my lord. Your heart is strong, and were I to wear it out I'd find much more pleasurable ways of doing so."

Arthur chuckled, dropping a kiss onto the top of her head. "I imagine you would as well."

"Have you eaten?" Guinevere disentangled herself from her husband and slid off his lap. "Come, even kings have to eat."

"They also have a duty not to be filling their stomachs while there is work to be done," he pointed out, letting her tug him to his feet. "But since you insist…"

"I do," she said firmly. "It must take an awful lot of energy to be so irritatingly noble, and I for one am not carrying you to the kitchen if you faint."

"Then I will follow your wishes, my lady, " he said with mock politeness. "I would not wish to inconvenience you."

"Good. I…" Her retort was cut off suddenly when she saw the small boy silhouetted in the doorway. "Lucan? What are you doing here?"

The tousled haired boy glanced between Guinevere and Arthur warily for a moment, before stepping closer. "It's about what's happening, you know about the people getting killed." He hesitated, trying to find the right words. "Cass says she saw something, says she saw a man with a bow last night when it was dark. 'could've been the man what killed the guards."

"Cass?" Guinevere asked, bending down to meet Lucan's worried eyes, "who's Cass?"

"She lives in the stables. Her dad's Garret - he looks after the horses."

"I know Garret," Arthur said, glancing at his wife. "Do you know where Cass is now Lucan?"

Lucan looked at his feet. "She's probably in the barn behind the pig pens, she likes it there." Fidgeting restlessly, he mumbled, "I said I wouldn't tell. She wasn't supposed to go in the stables after dark, and she'll get into trouble."

"It's alright Lucan," Guinevere smoothed a hand over his unruly curls reassuringly. "I'm sure her father will understand. You were right to come and tell us, lives could be saved because you were brave enough to speak out."

Noticing the boy's cheeks flush, Arthur tried not to smile. Lucan had had a crush on Guinevere since they had been found in their hellhole of a prison and always seemed to turn up when she visited the stables. He was a good lad though, and now that he had been taken in by a childless family in the village was quickly turning into a fine young man. If what he said about the stable girl was true, and he did not doubt that he believed what he said, then they might at last have a clue as to what was going on.

"Guinevere?" Arthur nodded at his wife and gestured for her to exit the room, following her and the boy into the main hallway. Gesturing at two of the guards to accompany them and informing the captain of his guard as to his intentions, they set off towards the hay barn.

The courtyard was busy: a wagon of grain was being unloaded by several burly men from a donkey cart, two young women gossiped as they carried water pails to the pig pens, wrinkling their noses at the acrid smell of burnt hoof wafted from the nearby blacksmiths. It was a peaceful scene, only enlivened by a couple of children who watched wide eyed as the king and his companions passed, before being cuffed into giving a wobbly bow by their mother who looked almost as startled as they did.

Inwardly Arthur sighed. He would have preferred to have sought out the girl without taking guards with him and drawing even more attention to himself, but it wasn't really an option anymore. He was king, and like it or not, there were precautions that had to be taken, even if they did make him stand out like a sore thumb among the people he was supposed to represent.

"Here." Lucan checked to see that Arthur and Guinevere were looking before pointing towards the rather rickety hay barn. "I dunno if she's there or not, but she usually is, and we'd have seen if she'd gone out the back - no cover on the hills see."

"Are you sure?" Guinevere looked at the haphazard building dubiously. "There looks like there's more than one escape route there."

The boy shook his head emphatically. "There's lots of ways out, but only two that won't set of Cerberus. We'd have heard him if she'd gone those ways."

"Cerberus?" Arthur gave Lucan a questioning look,

"Bill the tanner's dog," the boy replied with obvious distaste. "Horrible thing - bites you if you go near him, everyone's scared of it."

"I see." Glancing over at one of his guards to make sure that he had heard this particular piece of information, he was a little disconcerted to see the big man wince at the dog's name.

"I've heard of him sir," The guard said warily. "Right vicious bugger it's supposed to be, begging your pardon Sir."

"Then we will try to keep out of it's way," Arthur said grimly. "We are here to talk to a young girl , nothing more. Nothing will be gained by frightening her any more than she is already. Lucan and I will go into the barn and you will stay here with Guinevere and make sure that we are not interrupted."

"Yes sir." Both guards nodded, as did Guinevere.

"Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on them," she said with a faint smile.

Arthur nodded and ushered Lucan into the barn. Piles of hay were piled up against the far wall, gleaming gold in the dusty air, a couple of pigeons watched with vague interest from the rafters, but of the girl there was no sign.

"Cass!" Lucan scowled at the empty barn. "Come out, got someone to talk to you."

For a moment nothing happened, and Arthur opened his mouth to suggest that they look somewhere else, only to shut it again when Lucan marched forward determinedly. Picking up a pitchfork that was resting against the wall, he approached the largest pile hay.

"I mean it Cass, you come out or I'll skewer you," he growled.

"Wouldn't bloody dare." An outraged face topped with pale hair that seemed to be mostly straw, thrust itself out the haystack. "You're nothing but a tattle-tale Lucan no-parents, and if you think that I'll ever trust you again then you've got another thing coming." Scrambling out of her hiding place, Cassie drew herself up to her full height of four foot five inches and glared at her friend with a venom that reminded Arthur of some of the more ill tempered Saxons he had encountered "And I won't let you play with Poppy neither, nor…" Suddenly noticing Lucan's companion, her eyes widened and her tirade petered off in an undignified squeak.

"My lady?" Arthur watched a little worriedly as the girl's eyes continued to widen until she had the look of a somewhat startled owl. "Please do not be afraid; I wish to speak to you, that is all - you are not in any trouble."

"Oh." It came out as little more than a yelp, but at least she had recovered some of her senses Arthur thought wearily.

"Lucan tells me that you might have seen something last night. A man with a bow after dark. Is this true?"

The girl shot Lucan a filthy look, but nodded. "I saw…" she hesitated for a moment. "There was a man. I wouldn't have noticed, 'cept I thought it was my da, come to find me - I'm not supposed to be here after dark, but I couldn't sleep and Rosie, she's the barn owl was teaching her chicks to hunt, so I…"

"The man?" Arthur interrupted patiently.

"Oh." Cassie mentally shook herself. "He was quiet - quiet like one of the you know, the them people."

"Woads?"

"Yes." She frowned, trying to remember, "'cept I don't think he was one. He didn't dress like one anyways - he wore a cloak, but I did see his face once, and I've never seen him round here before."

"What did he look like?" Arthur asked gently. "Was he young or old, thin or fat/"  
"He was old," she said firmly. "Not as old as you - maybe twenty winters. Not thin, not fat, not…" She shrugged. "He was just a man - I wouldn't have noticed him normally. It was only 'cause the lady was arguing with him that I heard him at all."

"The lady?"

"There was a lady with him." Anticipating Arthur's question, she continued hurriedly. "I didn't see her though - she kept back, and I didn't want to move around too much incase they heard me. I only heard a bit, but she sounded really upset - kept telling him not to go, that it was wrong. I thought she was trying to stop him from going to the tavern or something."

"I see." Arthur studied the girl in front of him thoughtfully. "Did you hear anything else?"

Cassie thought hard. "No. I wasn't paying much mind. There was a rat by me see, and well, I didn't think they were important." She looked a little sheepish and glanced at Arthur before dropping her eyes again.

Arthur smiled at the young girl and inwardly sighed. As information went it wasn't particularly useful and threw up more questions than it answered, but he could not blame the girl for that.

"You have been most helpful Cassie," he said formally. "I thank you for your help."

The girl blushed beetroot red and merely bobbed a tiny curtsey when he nudged Lucan towards the door, obviously too overwhelmed by the praise to do much else, but as Arthur approached his guards and Guinevere, Cassie's voice suddenly piped up again."

"Sir? I mean my lord, or mister King.." Scuttling out of the barn, she looked warily at the other people. "I forgot, I mean I remembered something, but it don't make much sense."

"Then by all means speak. What have you remembered?"

"Something the woman said last night. A word, a name I think - I've never heard it before. She said…" Cassie's brow furrowed in concentration. "Wulfhere don't. You don't have to do this. I remembered because it sounded strange."

"Wulfhere?" Guinevere paled and took several steps towards the girl. "Are you sure that is what you heard?"

Cassie nodded, seemingly as intimidated by the Woad woman as her husband. "I promise."

"Guinevere," Arthur watched his wife uneasily, "does the name mean something to you?"

The beautiful Woad woman shook her head in disbelief and met her husband's eyes solemnly. "It should do; Wulfhere is my cousin."

**A/N: Big thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. Just to answer a couple of questions - Lucy is twenty two, and Tristan is in his early thirties in this story, and questions regarding Lucy's father will be answered later on in the story.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

"Your cousin?" Lucan blurted out the words without thinking, blushing and hastily falling silent when he remembered whose company he was in.

Guinevere did not seem to notice; walking over to Cassie, she placed a hand on her shoulder and looked at the young girl seriously.

"Are you sure that you heard that name? Would you swear it?"

Cassie nodded, a little unnerved and rather wishing that she had said nothing at all.

"I swear." She tried not to squirm beneath Arthur and Guinevere's gaze. "Honest, I wouldn't lie, I just said what I heard. I don't even know what I said."

"It's alright, you aren't in any trouble." Guinevere patted the girl absent-mindedly on the shoulder. "Run along now."

Cassie gave the Woad woman and Arthur a swift curtsey, and with a last glare at Lucan, scampered off towards the village without looking back.

"Well," Arthur said wearily. "It seems that things are becoming more complicated by the moment." Reaching out to touch Guinevere's arm, he met her troubled eyes. "Tell me about Wulfhere."

Guinevere shrugged. "There isn't much to tell. He is my father's sister's son. We used to play together when we were little: he's two years older than I. His father was killed when he was very young, but his mother, Githa, re-married when he was perhaps ten years old. They went north - that's the last I heard of them. I don't think my father and Hengist, that's the man she married, got on together, but I know little more than that. I haven't seen any of them for years."

"Your father didn't mention them?" Arthur asked thoughtfully. "Did he ever say why he disliked Hengist?"

"No." Guinevere bit her lip, searching through half forgotten memories. "I was only young when they left - it wasn't so unusual for our people to leave the clan from time to time. Hengist came from the north, I assumed he had family back there. After the Saxons came, and er…" she gave Arthur an almost apologetic look, "well, it wasn't safe to travel. I suppose that I hoped they had settled up north and managed to avoid the conflict. As for why my father did not like Hengist, I have no idea. He does not often confide in me, and as I say, it was a long time ago."

"Would Wulfhere have any reason to attack the people here?" Arthur asked, knowing the answer in his heart even before the woman beside him spoke.

Guinevere raised her hand and entangled her fingers with Arthur's, giving him a sad understanding smile. "His father was killed by Roman soldiers. That may be a reason or it may not be. Until we find him we cannot know for sure; I knew the boy not the man. The alliance still holds, despite the losses on both sides - if Wulfhere truly is behind the killings, he is just one man, he can be stopped; he will be stopped."

"He is your cousin," Arthur said softly, tipping up her chin with one rough finger, so that her dark eyes met his. "If he is behind this then you know what must be done."

She gave a half smile. "We will talk to my father, we will find Wulfhere, we will seek the truth." Raising up on to her tip-toes she brushed her lips against the big Roman's. "And if he is guilty of trying to destroy the alliance, of trying to destroy _us, _I'll kill him myself.

* * *

"Sickening isn't it?" Lucy grinned at Vanora's grumbling, but could not bring herself to echo the sentiment. Galahad and Kyrie sat at one of the tables in the far corner of the tavern , talking quietly and seemingly oblivious to everything else around them. A half filled tray of empty mugs sat on the table beside them, and Lucy deduced that Kyrie had forgotten her duties when Galahad had first spoken to her. Giving an amused smile to the red-haired tavern keeper, Lucy swiftly crossed the room and retrieved the tray without either Galahad or Kyrie noticing. If Vanora had not bawled out the young girl for neglecting her job then she could not be half as irritated as she pretended to be, Lucy thought to herself. And why should she be? The tavern was almost empty, and even Vanora looked restless. It had been a long time since she had seen Galahad smile the way he was at Kyrie, and well, she'd never really seen Kyrie smile much at all. _They might be good for one another. _The thought was a sweet sort of comfort, Lucy mused as she rinsed out the mugs and hung them on the hooks in the kitchen to dry. Galahad needed someone, Kyrie needed someone, and, she thought glancing over at them, their dark hair gleaming in the dim light, their eyes bright and cheeks flushed as they laughed at a comment that Kyrie had made, they certainly made a handsome couple. Ignoring the sudden dull ache in her chest, she picked up the bucket behind the bar and lugged the dirty water outside, watching as it snaked down the low hill into an ever-widening muddy puddle.

Summer was almost here, she thought to herself, as she wandered down to the well, idly swinging the bucket beside her. The first swallows swooped and skimmed across the fields behind the wall, and the evenings were getting brighter, the cows heavy with calf, the whole world blooming and brightening and eager for the summer sun. Looking around at the people bustling to and fro, gossiping and joking, speculating on the recent killings and sharing news, Lucy suddenly felt very alone. She missed her brother and his family - even if Danny's snores could wake the dead and little Eleanor's desire for stories had driven her half mad when she was bone tired and wanted nothing more than to sleep. Messengers had been sent out a few weeks ago: envoys to inform the towns and villages of the alliance between the Woads and what was left of the Romans and their knights. News travels fast, but by the time it arrives at the farther flung villages it is usually so twisted that it bears no resemblance to the truth; at least this way people will be properly informed. Hooking the bucket onto the chain above the well, Lucy carefully lowered it down to the water. It was probable that her brother would hear about the defeat of the Saxons and of the truce with the Woads. It was possible that he might bring his family back… But then it was also possible that they had heard of the recent killings, of the threat to the alliance… Better that they stayed away. Better that they made a life for themselves somewhere safe. Lucy pulled the bucket over the stone lip of the well with uncharacteristic violence, and swore under her breath as she managed to tip most of the water over her skirt. _Serves you right for not paying attention, _she mentally berated herself.

A low cry made her jump, almost letting go of the chain that she was once again using to lower the bucket. No-one in the village nearby seemed unsettled, and looking up Lucy realised why. The cry had come from a hawk, not a human. Tristan's hawk; _Isolde._

The bird circled lazily before drifting downwards, perching on the curved iron strut that held the well chain.

"Hello." Lucy smiled at the beautiful bird. "I'm sorry, I don't have anything for you this time. Perhaps you might try asking your master."

Isolde cocked her head, ducking down to swiftly rearrange a couple of errant feathers under her wing, before going back to studying Lucy. Seeing that food was not on offer, and neither was anything else of interest, she took to the air again, circling once, before vanishing towards the forest.

Lucy smiled as she watched the bird take flight. Truly the hawk was beautiful, and there was a strange sort of pride in knowing that something so wild was willing to trust her enough to come so close. Carefully pulling the bucket from it's hook this time, she set it down without spilling a drop. She had managed to avoid thinking of Tristan for oh, she mentally counted the minutes, a couple of hours? But unbidden but not unwelcome, he crept once again into her thoughts. She had almost kissed him earlier, and the memory was still somewhat dizzying. How could one man be so confusing? He had shown her a glimpse of his soul and it had been heartbreaking, terrifying, touching. How could he live believing that life held nothing but death? How could a simple caress from him make her feel dizzy and overwhelmed; the silly little girl that she had always been determined not to be? And worst of all, what would happen to him when he was well enough to leave the healing house and seek out a new death?

Shivering slightly, and not merely from the cooling air, Lucy did not at first hear her name being called. When at last her muddled mind made sense of the words, she turned to find Brennus striding towards her, his face cheeks flushed with exertion and his forehead wrinkled with annoyance.

"What are you deaf girl?" he panted. "Half the bloody country's heard me yelling your name, and here you are mooning about like a…" a suitable analogy failed to make an appearance, and his colour heightened still further. "Like a deaf girl," he huffed eventually. "Got something to tell you."

"Oh." Lucy's mind did a swift inventory of anything that Brennus might have to tell her, and came up with very few positive scenarios. "What's…"

"It's Llynya." Brennus cut her off before she could continue, and Lucy felt her heart plummet. From the look on the old healer's face it was not good news.

Llynya?" He concern must have shown on her face, and Brennus waved away her concern irritably.

"She's fine. She woke up not long ago, I checked her myself - no harm done. I need you to get that idiot knight of hers out of the room. Arthur's been in to talk to her, since then Gawain has refused to leave. It's not decent - they aren't even married."

"They do have a child together," Lucy pointed out, unable to suppress a grin. "Llynya's alright? Really."

"She'll be fine." Brennus's expression softened a little. "Of course she'll need watching for the next couple of days, but she needed her head examining when she took up with that blond oaf, so nothing's really changed." Grabbing Lucy's arm he made to pull her towards the healing house, only to find the young girl bounding ahead of him, her skirt bunched in her hand, several chickens squwarking in outrage as she dodged between them.

"Idiot girl," Brennus muttered to himself, hastily changing his smile to a grimace when one of the village children looked at him in amazement. "What are you looking at?" he growled, before following Lucy to the healing houses.

* * *

Lucy scrabbled up the steps towards Llynya's room two at a time. Finally some good news! Llynya was alright, and that meant that Taran would be alright and Gawain would be happy and … Out of breath, she stumbled to a halt at the top of the stairs. Taking a deep breath and tucking her hair into some semblance of order, she pushed the door open cautiously. Meaning to slide in quietly, she merely stood in the doorway, a slow smile spreading across her face. Llynya was indeed awake, her dark eyes flicking towards her friend, a tired half smile gracing her face in acknowledgement. In her arms Taran slept peacefully, one tiny hand tangled in his mother's shift, the other hidden by the heavily muscled arm of his father who had somehow wedged himself behind his lover so that both she and his child were cradled in his arms. Despite the protective position it was obvious that Gawain was fast asleep, and with a whispered "missed you, see you soon." Lucy backed out of the room and closed the door quietly behind her. Everyone who belonged in that room was already there.

"Well?" Brennus's voice made her jump, and turning, Lucy watched him struggle up the stairs with a little amusement.

"Well what?" She raised an eyebrow. "What would you have me do?"

"He can't stay there." The healer leant against the wall breathlessly. "It's not enough that Bors and Lancelot are passing out drunk, that people are getting slaughtered willy nilly - I've never had.." he hunted fiercely for the right word, "_shenanigans_ in here before, and I don't see why I should allow them now. So Lucy, If you don't mind, I…"

"Brennus." Lucy tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and gave the somewhat flustered healer a kind smile. "I respect you. You are a wonderful healer, and whether you like it or not, a good man as well. However if you open that door I'll run you through with Tristan's sword."

The older man blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. I won't enjoy it, and I'll make sure that you have a nice burial and maybe I'll read a poem over your body or something, but you aren't going in there." Lucy folded her arms over her breasts and gave the healer her best glare. "There's more than one type of healing, let them get on with it."

"And you are suddenly an authority on that?" Brennus looked at her in surprise. "If she suffers a set-back on your head be it."

"You don't believe that." Lucy unwound her arms from her chest and relaxed her defiant posture. "Come on Brennus, leave them be. They've got what they need ; they love each other, they love their baby. I'll keep an eye on them, I've got to check on Tristan anyway. " Brennus opened his mouth to protest, but Lucy continued before he could speak. "Besides you should probably go find Lancelot. Last I heard he was heading for the tavern, and you know how the girls miss him. Now he's an injured hero I'm sure they'll be lining up to comfort him - it would be a shame if he pulled any stitches."

The healer growled, narrowing his eyes at the young girl in front of him. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing missy. You keep an eye on them, and when I come back in the morning.."

"You'll be as grumpy as ever," Lucy finished. "Go, it's still light, and the guards have been tripled according to Vanora. I'll stay here tonight." Brennus raised an eyebrow, and Lucy hurriedly amended her statement. "In the spare room. Alone."

"On your head be it," Brennus grumbled. "I'll send Vanora with some food up later. Llynya can try some soup if she feels up to it - nothing solid yet though. Tristan's bandages have been changed but he needs to eat; see if you can persuade him to do so. I have a feeling most of yesterday's stew ended up in his hawk's belly rather than his."

Lucy felt her cheeks colour a little, but merely nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow."

The old healer merely grunted in reply, trudging down the stairs and into the courtyard without saying anything further. Watching as he closed the door behind him, Lucy let out a deep breath. Truth be told it was a bit scary being in the building if not alone then the only person currently awake and in good health. There were six guards outside - all of whom she had recognised and had let her pass good naturedly, but still… the thought of sleeping alone in the spare room was a little worrying. Glancing at the door to Llynya's room, she grinned. She had no intention of entering until Vanora came with the food later, and she had a fairly good idea that her friend would not welcome the interruption anyway. There would be time enough to ask Llynya about what had happened once she had rested. Looking at the door opposite, she wondered if Tristan knew that Llynya had awakened. The thought of opening the door tightened her stomach and sent a strange jittery nervousness through her, but it had to be done, she told herself. What was she so afraid of?"

Pushing open the door with more force than was necessary or indeed polite, she stepped into the room.

_There was nothing so very frightening here,_ she told herself. The floor was still worn wooden planks, the walls were still rough stone. A dying fire guttered in the grate as she shut the door, and there was the bed. The bed that seemed overly large in the big room, the man sitting upon it silent and watching her with the same watchful guarded expression that his hawk had regarded her with earlier. All previous bravado fled like water cupped in a child's hands, and she fought against her sudden awkwardness.

"You look like your bird." he words were out before she could take them back, and inwardly she kicked herself - of all the stupid things to say.

For his part, Tristan said nothing, not a flicker of his eyebrow, not a blink, Lucy thought uneasily. _Had she gone too far before? _she wondered, _had she taken something that he was not prepared to give?_

Swallowing hard, she fixed her eyes on the floor. "Llynya's awake," she muttered.

"I know," he said quietly.

"Gawain told you?" she gave him a sideways look. He looked a little amused by her comment and shook his head.

"No. Brennus has a talent for healing, not for stealth. Gawain will look after her now."

"yes." Lucy's mouth twitched in a smile. "It looks that way."

"And apparently you will take my sword and slaughter the only healer in this place if he doesn't leave them alone." The words were almost expressionless, but Lucy had the distinct feeling that he was laughing at her.

"I didn't.. I mean." She looked at him crossly, awkwardness replaced with annoyance. " It's not like you're using it at the moment," she muttered.

"No." His expression softened a little. "You have nothing to apologise for Lucy."

"I wasn't apologising." Taking a couple of steps closer to him, she jumped as a log suddenly cracked loudly in the fireplace. "I wouldn't know what to do with it anyway, and even if I did, I wouldn't hurt Brennus, or anyone, and it isn't as…"

"Lucy." Tristan's voice was quiet but it brooked no argument. "Come here."

She did as he said. She was no longer afraid, no longer fighting herself or him. When he reached out his hand she took it, when he pulled her down onto the bed beside him, she watched the play of the firelight on his dark eyes and let her body rest beside his, and when he kissed her, she did not pull away.

**A/N Oh dear, I keep thinking of things that should have been in the authors notes in the first chapter - sorry, kind of late now, but I'm going with the idea that Guinevere is Merlin's daughter in this fic. There is a bit of discussion about it, but anyways that's how I always interpreted it in the film. Thanks very much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - reviews are love lol.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

_Sweet, so sweet. _Tristan tangled his hand into Lucy's hair and pulled her closer, kissing her harder than perhaps he should have done. She trembled slightly beneath his hands, her mouth hesitant and inexperienced against his. _Dove to the hawk, _he thought blurrily. He could crush her throat, could tear the soft skin, could…. Pulling his head away, he rested his head against her collar bone, the beat of her pulse a fragile tattoo against his skin. He bit her swiftly, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make her cry out, _enough to mark her, enough to brand her as his._

Lucy wrenched herself backwards, wide eyed and confused. Bringing one hand up to touch the bruised flesh, she swallowed hard and looked at the scout, half afraid and yet too lost in the feelings that were threatening to overwhelm her to move.

"I… " she stammered, only to abruptly quiet when he brought his mouth to her shoulder. Gentle this time, licking away the last vestiges of pain, making her whimper and slide her hands over his sinewy shoulders, press her body against him. Something within her was burning, something twisting and racing through her blood, and when he ran slender fingers under the hem of her dress and traced circles on the trembling muscle of her thigh, she gasped and dropped her head to his shoulder. _Too much, and yet not enough.. What was she doing?_

The knock on the door was sharp, and so startled Lucy her heart almost stopped. Scrambling off the bed and yanking her dress down, she shoved her hair back behind her ears and did not dare look at the man behind her.

"Who is it?" she called out, well aware that her voice was trembling, her cheeks were flushed and she probably looked for all the world like the wanton that only moments before she had been acting like. Vanora's voice answered, and after a moment the red-haired woman entered the room, deftly balancing a tray on one hand and carrying a bundle of clothing under her other arm. Raising an eyebrow at Lucy whose lopsided smile of welcome did not disguise the fact that she looked away guiltily when she tried to meet her eyes, Vanora placed her burdens on the table with a sigh of relief.

"Well, missy." She shook her head in mock rebuke as she unfurled the bundle of cloth. "I don't know what you said to Brennus, but you certainly got him riled up. He's down at the tavern lecturing poor Kyrie about immoral behaviour." she gave Lucy a knowing smile. "From the looks of things he's wasting his breath though - his efforts would be better spent up here.

"Oh." Lucy blushed and stumbled for an explanation. "You see, I er, I mean it wasn't what it looked like, and.."

Vanora carried on as though she had not heard, although she stifled a grin when she turned away. "Yup, from the way Llynya and Gawain are settled in, it doesn't look like there will be any budging them. Not that I can blame them, and not that I'd like to try arguing with them either."

"No." Lucy eyed Vanora suspiciously, more than certain that the older woman was laughing at her, but went along with the charade. "They looked happy enough when I saw them earlier, and it's probably good for Llynya to have Gawain and Taran close. They both missed her."

"Indeed." Ladling out two bowls of stew, Vanora glanced at Tristan. "And how are you feeling? You've certainly got some colour back in your cheeks - it seems that Lucy has done a decent job of looking after you."

"Tristan smiled non-commitedly and took the bowl of stew that the bar woman offered without comment. Swallowing a mouthful and licking his lips, he sat up straighter, forcing away the pain in his side and back with a force of will that he had certainly not demonstrated earlier.

"What news of the killings?"

Vanora shrugged. "Nothing much to tell at the moment. Arthur sent for Bors not long ago - I expect he'll be up to tell you if there's anything worth saying. No-one else has been killed, I can tell you that much."

Tristan grunted in acknowledgement, but Lucy caught the flash of irritation that briefly marred his features and understood his frustration. The man was used to being at the forefront of battle - Arthur's eyes and ears- the one who was entrusted with information first. To be sidelined must rankle, as must his inability to do much more than wait and listen to what his brothers were doing to protect the people and themselves. Briefly she wondered if he had only kissed her in an attempt to release some of his pent-up tension, but glancing up and meeting his eyes, she did not think so. She had seen glimpses of the soul beneath the scout's armour, understood the longing for acceptance buried beneath a lifetime's worth of scar tissue.

"Lucy?" Jerking her head around, Lucy found Vanora looking at her questioningly. "Gone deaf?"

"Sorry." Lucy took the folded bundle of cloth from her friend. "I was miles away."

Vanora "harrumphed" in disbelief. "If you say so. As I said before, there's a change of clothing there, and I've put a couple of extra blankets on the spare bed. If you want to go out then take a guard - not Elrich if you know what's good for you, he doesn't keep his hands to himself - and if you hear anything strange then get Gawain before you make another mad dash for it."

"Is that all?" Lucy hugged the clothing to her chest, a little amused by Vanora's orders. It was nice to know that she had someone looking out for her though, and as the red-haired woman passed she kissed her cheek. "You are a nice lady, Van."

Vanora rolled her eyes as she bustled towards the doorway. "Less of the lady please, and less of the nice while you're at it. I have a reputation to uphold as you well know." She looked back as she opened the door, opening her mouth as though she were going to say something, before thinking better of it and merely vanishing into the hallway. The thump of the door closing, seemed very loud in the sudden quiet, and Lucy turned back to Tristan.

"Was the stew good?" a silly inane comment, but given the man's ability to stay silent for hours, it was the only thing she could think of to say. He merely nodded and gestured to the other bowl that Vanora had left, obviously indicating that she should try it. Lucy picked it up and took a sip, sinking onto the spare bed and tucking her legs under her. From beneath lowered lashes she could see Tristan watching her, but didn't say anything further.

"I'm sorry." The bowl was long since empty and Lucy half dozing when Tristan spoke, and it took her a moment to understand what he had said.

"That's twice that you have apologised to me." She looked over to him and smiled despite herself. "At least the first time I knew what you were apologising for - since it is such a rare thing then I would rather know what occasion merits it this time." _Stubborn man, _she thought to herself as he glared at her. She'd already told him that she wasn't afraid of him, had let him kiss her, had let him _bite_ her - and what all that had been about she still wasn't quite sure. If he had wanted to truly hurt her then he could have done, and the way he had kissed her… She could walk away right now - go and see Llynya, pretend that she felt nothing for him. Let him lock himself back up behind the walls he had so carefully constructed. The battle within herself did not last very long.

"Don't," he whispered as she slid off the bed and approached him. "Lucy I shouldn't have…"

"What?" She sat next to him and leaned over, her hair brushing his chest. "Done this?" She dipped her lips to his, a little tentative at first, but growing in confidence when he gasped sharply. Dropping her head, she nipped his collarbone. "Done this?"

"Lucy," his voice was almost a groan. "You don't know what you're doing."

She looked up, deliberately misinterpreting his words. "I know. Show me."

He sighed, tracing the curve of her lips, her cheekbones with one finger. "I have nothing to offer you."

Lucy quirked a smile. "Nor I you. Doesn't matter much though." Kissing him on the forehead, she settled down on top of the blankets that covered him. "'sides you're much warmer than the spare bed." Closing her eyes, she felt his arm snake beneath her and pull her closer, the warmth of his cheek against her head, and while neither of them moved, it was a long time before either of them slept.

* * *

Gawain slid out from next to Llynya and stretched his cramped muscles. He was loathe to leave the room - he was loath to leave the bed if the truth be known - but he had duties, and even Arthur's patience only stretched so far.

"Be careful." Llynya opened one tired eye and snuggled into the warm indentation that his body had left in the bed. "No heroics."

Gawain smiled and reached for his clothes. "Wouldn't dream of it love." Hastily dressing, he peered into the cot that Vanora had brought over for Talan and peered proudly at his sleeping son. Everything precious to him, everything fragile and so nearly lost, was within these four wall, and the thought was a little unnerving. Bucking his belt, he opened the door and closed it quietly behind him. The guards stationed at the entrance below would keep them safe while he could not, however as he crossed the courtyard he could not help but look back.

"Gawain!" Bors's voice was unmistakable, and loud enough to startle several horses tethered nearby. "Thought you'd gotten lost." Clapping his friend's shoulder, he ushered him towards Arthur's quarters. "Was just about to come and find you. Arthur wants a word."

Gawain shrugged and gave the older man a tight smile. "Arthur can talk as much as he wants, just so long as there's an order to go out and kill the bastard that attacked Llynya and the others included in the speech."

"Battle hungry are we?" Bors laughed. "Don't worry, I think there's news - you might get a chance to wave that little axe of yours around soon enough." At Gawain's none too gentle shove, he elaborated a little. "Gotta name at any rate."

"A name?" Gawain followed his friend past Arthur's guards, nodding distractedly at them. "Who is he?"

"Buggered if I know." Bors opened the door to the conference room and settled onto his chair at the famous round table. "'spect we're about to find out though."

* * *

"The man that we are looking for is called Wulfhere." Arthur braced himself against the table and looked at his few remaining knights seriously. Behind him Guinevere stood quietly, unwilling to sit at the table that symbolised so much to her husband and his men. The empty places held too many memories of fallen knights, and she was well aware that it was she who was the stranger here. Merlin had no such reticence. He sat beside Arthur, his already lined race seeming to have acquired even deeper trenches overnight. Watching him, Guinevere felt a prickle of fear. Her father was old, and despite his commanding presence not in the best of health; what would it do to him if they were forced to kill his nephew. Pushing the thought away, she directed her attention to the knights who listened intently to Arthur's words.

Lancelot looked a little pale, but had obviously lost none of his confidence in the aftermath of the battle, nor any of his devotion to his commander, she thought with relief. Galahad looked restless and fidgety - expressive eyes unable to hide the fact that he would rather be doing something, _anything_, but sit quietly, a sentiment that was echoed in both Bors and Gawains' faces. She couldn't blame them for their frustration: they were warriors not politicians, and they had spent too long cooped up while an unknown killer walked among them. With a shiver she wondered if they would actually bring Wulfhere back to be questioned rather than simply killing him.

"Llynya said that it was one man. The guards were shot in seconds, she was knocked out before she knew what was happening," Arthur said gravely. "Do not let your guard down, do not underestimate him. I want him brought back alive, but not at the expense of anyone elses life - am I understood?"

A mix of grunts and murmured agreement answered his question, and Arthur nodded. "Good. Be ready in an hour and make sure that you are well armed, I don't want any surprises out there. You follow Merlin's scouts and you defer to them."

"Good job Tristan's not here," Lancelot muttered. "Can't see him following a Woad."

Arthur glared at his friend, but inwardly agreed. It still remained to be seen how well his scout would take to fighting alongside his former enemies. With a sigh, he straightened up and nodded to Merlin. "We meet in the courtyard, Ganis is already readying the horses. Go and prepare."

The knights left the room swiftly, and watching them go, Arthur smiled. The world had changed but his men's loyalty remained true. Now all he had to do was make sure that their faith was not misplaced.

**A/N: Thanks very much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

"Damn!" Galahad swore to himself and glared at his chambers as though by sheer force of will he could summon his missing greaves from thin air. It was bad enough that he'd done nothing of any use in the past few days but sit around while his fate was decided, but now that he had the opportunity to actually _do _something, he couldn't even manage to dress himself properly. A rap on the door behind him penetrated his filthy mood, and he swung around angrily.

"What?"

Kyrie paused in the doorway, frozen in place by the young knight's flashing eyes. Uncertain as to whether to approach any closer, she inclined her head towards the bundle of clothing that she carried.

"I'm sorry, " she said hesitantly. "I didn't mean to disturb you." Edging into the room, she hastily shoved her burden onto the bed. "Ganis cleaned your hauberk and greaves for you, and I took the liberty of washing your tunic for you. It was.. I mean…" Kyrie backed away, suddenly feeling foolish and unsettled.

"It was filthy," Galahad finished her sentence for her, his anger extinguished as quickly as it had kindled. Taking a step towards the slender girl, he inwardly winced when she flinched away from him. "But not as filthy as my temper, I imagine," he said ruefully.

Kyrie did not meet his eyes, but her mouth twitched in a half smile at his words.

"I'm sorry, Kyrie. My anger lies with myself not you." He shrugged, arms lifting and then falling to his sides in attempt at showing his frustration. "Thank-you for the clothes."

"It was no trouble." The dark-haired girl slipped past him and reached for the discarded garments, shaking out the tunic and offering it to the young knight. "I do not blame you for being unsettled; half the fort is readying for war, and the other half is pretending that nothing has happened. So much for dreams of peace."

Galahad watched Kyrie tuck a lock of hair behind her ear as she straightened the blankets upon his bed. There was a little furrow of concentration between her brows, and the curve of her lower lip captured between her teeth echoed the swell of her breasts and the sinuous lines of her body. Suddenly aware that she was being studied, Kyrie glanced at him, and Galahad dropped his eyes, fighting the rush of blood that flushed his cheeks. _For Gods sake man, _he berated himself. _You are a knight, not a boy who has never tupped a maid._ Tuning, he pulled his dirty tunic over his head, tossing it into the corner of the room before donning the fresh one, and this time it was Kyrie's turn to blush. Letting her hair fall over her face, she snuck a peek at the young man beside her, her hands fidgeting busily but pointlessly with the clothing on the bed. She had seen naked men before - had lain beneath them, revolted and ashamed. Never had she seen anything like Galahad however, never had she yearned to reach out and _touch._

"Kyrie?"

With a yelp, Kyrie dropped the greave that she had been holding and looked at the young knight guiltily.

"Sir?"

Galahad looked at the flushed girl in confusion for a moment, before motioning her forward. "My hauberk - may I have it please?"

"Oh. Yes…" Reaching for the padded armour, Kyrie passed it to the knight and watched him tug it over his head. "It's heavy," she said, uncomfortable at the sudden silence.

"True." He flashed her a smile. "It's probably saved my life a couple of times though, so I won't complain."

Kyrie smiled. "Then I suppose it is a necessary evil." Noticing the young knight struggling with the buckles, she gathered her courage and approached him, brushing away his fingers and lacing the leather straps securely. He accepted her ministrations; her dainty fingers seemed incongruous against the rough worn leather, and impulsively he lifted her pale hand to his lips, brushing a kiss against her knuckles.

She didn't say anything; merely looked at him startled, but neither did she pull away. Releasing her reluctantly, Galahad walked swiftly to the corner of the room where his weapons were propped against the wall.

Kyrie swallowed hard, and watched as he slid his sword into it's scabbard and secured it around his waist.

"Is it true that the Woads are helping Arthur to hunt one of their own?" She asked tentatively. At Galahad's nod, she shifted uncomfortably, unwilling to meet his eyes. "Are you sure that you can trust them?"

"No." Galahad looked at her for a long moment, before heading towards the door. "But we follow our orders Kyrie, Arthur would not knowingly lead us into harm."

She smiled a little at that; she had heard too many of Vanora's rants about pig-headed Samartians following Roman orders to doubt the young Knight's loyalty to his commander.

"Be careful" she said quietly as he left the room with a nod and brief "farewell m'lady."

* * *

Arthur hurried down the stone steps to the courtyard, his lips still tingling from his wife's farewell kiss. The morning was cool and crisp - good weather for hunting, and were circumstances different, he would have been looking forward to shaking off the shackles of his position and succumbing to the adrenaline of battle. Unfortunately, this particular hunt was wrapped up in the intricacies of politics and threatened to undo everything he had worked so hard for. He and his knights had to find Wulfhere before anyone else was killed, but once captured the man must be kept alive. His confession would be needed to ensure that rumours of a witch hunt against Woads did not spread, and that justice would be dealt to anyone who threatened the fragile alliance that existed at the fort. It also, he thought grimly, would clear the name of his youngest knight, who been far more shaken by the accusations against him than he would have liked to acknowledge. 

The knights were already mounted by the time he reached the stables. Gawain and Galahad nodded as he passed, Bors irritably shooing away one of his many children who scampered around his horse's front legs. _Lucky that the gelding's temperament was the polar opposite to it's master's_, Arthur thought to himself as he took his stallion's reins from Jols. Swinging into the saddle, he took a moment to centre his thoughts under the pretext of adjusting his stirrups. The two Woad trackers that Merlin had picked sat upon their horses calmly, a little back from the knights. Both looked to be in their mid-twenties and shared the same dark eyes and narrow faces, the similarity between the two leading Arthur to wonder if they were perhaps brothers.

"Aethel and Eadgyth." Merlin appeared beside Arthur's horse's shoulder and almost seemed to have read his mind. "Barring that demon-spawn scout of yours they are the best trackers north or south of the wall."

Arthur gave a wry smile and nodded. "Have they been informed of their quarry?"

Merlin ran a bony hand over the grey stallion's shoulder, studying the sleek coat as though he was reluctant to answer the question.

"Aye," he said at last. "They'll find Wulfhere for you. The boy.. Man is marked, there can be no mistaking him." Looking up, he met Arthur's eyes. "They have no loyalty to one who has slaughtered their own - one whose actions threaten the future of their families. They will obey your orders. Bring Wulfhere back, let us put an end to this."

Arthur nodded in agreement and farewell, and nudged his horse forward, closer to the two trackers. They watched him with a quiet wariness, and Arthur felt a sudden pang of recognition. How many times had Tristan regarded him with the same silent expectation; the hawk ready for it's master to remove its jesses and bid it fly where he commanded? What he would not give to have his taciturn scout with him on this chase. Inwardly shaking himself, he greeted the two Woads politely. Tristan would be back with them soon enough, and he had enough to think about without worrying about his friend who, from what Lancelot had said, was probably curled up with Vanora's bar-maid. The two men, who were indeed brothers, seemed capable and keen to be off. If they found the idea of taking orders from a Roman distasteful then they hid it well, and with a silent prayer, Arthur motioned for his knights to follow as they trotted out of the courtyard.

* * *

"They're going." Lucy peered out of the window, shivering a little as the breeze slid icy fingers across her skin. Ducking her head back inside, she shoved her windblown hair out of her eyes and padded back to the bed. Tristan didn't say anything, merely held out a hand and pulled her down onto the bed beside him when she took it. She smiled when he nuzzled her cheek, beard scratchy against her cheek. 

"Do you think they'll be alright?" Twisting, she turned to look at him. "Lancelot's not healed properly yet , and they're following Woads. I mean I know that they're on our side now, but still.."

Tristan looked away, and Lucy inwardly kicked herself. The scout was well aware that the people he cared about were following what had been for years his loathed enemy; the last thing he needed was for her to point out his inability to help. Once again she had managed to speak without thinking.

"You'll be back with them soon," she said quietly. "They need you in one piece."

"And what would you know of it?" Tristan's eyes narrowed. "What do you know of war little girl?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. The confinement in this damned chamber chafed at him, the knowledge that Arthur and his brothers were being led gods knew where by a couple of Woads who would likely have slaughtered all of them without a second thought a few months ago, burned and twisted within him. Unable to run or even fight, he struck out at the closest target available. Lucy.

The blonde girl paled, but did not move. Lifting her chin, she glared at the man beside her.

"What do I know of war?" She gave a hollow laugh. "Less than you, and more than I care to. Do not assume that I did not know what I would face if Arthur had not prevailed, do not assume that I am blind to that which is around me." Taking a deep breath, she batted away Tristan's hand when he would have touched her shoulder. "You are right; I am young. There are many things that I don't know, but don't suppose that I am stupid because look for hope."

She looked so defiant and flushed with righteous indignation, that Tristan did nothing but watch her for a couple of moments.

"You would get on well with Galahad," he said eventually.

She gave a half smile to that comment and looked at him questioningly. "You would prefer me to keep Galahad company rather than you?"

"No." The word was out of his mouth before he had a chance to think. Lucy's eyes widened, and looking down he saw that he had gripped her arm so tightly that his fingers pressed deeply into the soft flesh. Releasing her, he tried to think of something to say that would not betray the sudden sick jealousy that had flared within him. "I would not wish that fate on anyone."

Lucy shrugged, a little confused at Tristan's words. "Kyrie does not seem to mind." Slipping off the bed, she moved towards the door. Brennus would be here soon, and although she was loathe to leave the scout, she needed a moment to herself. The healer would take care of Tristan, and when she returned perhaps she would have gleaned some more information to share with him, or at least managed to steady her muddled thoughts for more than two minutes at a time. With a smile and a brief "goodbye," she shut the door behind her.

* * *

Arthur loosened his reins a little, and let his horse scratch it's eye upon it's knee, taking the opportunity to roll his shoulders. They had been riding for most of the morning, various trails followed and then abandoned, the Woad trackers seemingly as frustrated as the knights that followed them. Not for the first time he wished that Tristan had been able to accompany them, a sentiment that had been echoed in the muttered grumbles shared between Galahad and Gawain. Now, the group waited in a sunlit clearing for Aethel to return, the beauty of the surroundings going entirely unnoticed by any of the impatient men. 

"How long does it take to follow a bloody trail?" Bors groused, earning him a sharp look from the remaining Woad. "Thought we were here to fight, not take in the sodding scenery."

Lancelot stifled a snort of laughter, but Arthur glared at the burly knight.

"Hold your tongue Bors. We are here to capture not kill, and you would do well to remember that."

"Right." Bors shrugged as though the reminder was of little interest. "Take 'im back alive, so everyone can watch him die. Kinder to kill the stupid bugger now, assuming we ever find 'im, if you ask.."

His words were cut off by Eadgyth. Turning his mount towards the knights, he addressed Arthur, his face shadowed with concern.

"My lord." He almost flinched a little as the title passed his lips. "It's been too long - I fear that something is wrong."

Arthur nodded; he himself had been harbouring the same thoughts. The forest was silent, there was no immediate threat, but something seemed wrong here, and Aethel had been gone far longer than he should have been whether he had found the trail or not.

"Knights." Gesturing for his men to follow him, he let Eadgyth lead the way. The track was narrow, and forced into single file, the knights watched their surroundings warily - it would have been the perfect place for an ambush. After only a few moments the trail widened again, but any relief was short lived. With a hoarse cry, Eadgyth threw himself off his horse and raced towards the bodies half hidden in the bracken with no heed to either stealth or safety. The knights followed closely behind him, dismounting and drawing their weapons, forming a protective flanking position behind their leader. The Woad man fell to his knees, pulling the body of his brother from where it laid sprawled upon the corpse of another man. Aethel's sharp eyes gazed sightlessly, his throat punctured by an arrow, his mouth open as though in suprise. With a moan of grief, Eadgyth hugged his brother to him, barely looking at the body that lay beside him.

Arthur took in the scene swiftly, and turned to his knights. "Bows ready, the archer is probably still close."

The knights nodded, swinging their bows from their shoulders with a swiftness borne of many years of practice. Alert and poised to fire, they waited for a signal or for any possible threat to appear. Grateful that none of his knights seemed to have forgotten any of their training in the past few months of peace, Arthur turned his attention to the two dead men. At first glance it seemed as though there had been a struggle in which both men had perished, however on closer inspection it seemed that that had not been the case. The arrow that had killed Aethel had hit him from behind - probably as he had been examining the other body. The other corpse was that of a young man, although from the bloating of his features he had been killed at least a day before, Arthur noted. The man's hair was wild, and although he wore boots and trousers, he was naked to the waist. Various tattoos flowed around his arms in a sinuous pattern, a strange stylised creature had been etched upon his chest, and Arthur looked at Eadgyth questioningly. The dead man was obviously a Woad, but who was he?

It took a moment for Eadgyth to register Arthur's quiet question, but when he finally dragged his eyes away from his brother, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Do you know him?" Arthur asked.

Eadgyth shook his head. "I don't know him, but I know who he is." Brown eyes met green, and the Woad breathed out slowly. "That is.. Was… Wulfhere."

**A/N: Sorry that this chapter took so long - it really hasn't been the best of weeks rueful smile. Thanks very much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter (thank-you creepyfreak 395, Goddess and jolie343 sweet anonymous people). I promise to get the next chapter up as soon as possible, but next week is going to be crazy, so please bear with me - I have no intention of giving up on the story.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

"Wulfhere?" Arthur looked at the tracker in disbelief. "But if he…." Glancing back towards his knights, he gave a signal for them to retain their vigilance and got to his feet. "What in the name of God is going on here?"

Eadgyth didn't answer. Cradling his brother's body to him, he either didn't hear the big Roman's question or have any reply. With a tired sigh, Arthur rubbed a hand over his face and tried to re-arrange his muddled thoughts. Wulfhere was dead, one of the scouts was dead, and in the space of only a couple of moments the carefully thought out plan had crumbled into nothing. He didn't know who had killed Wulfhere, he didn't know who had killed Aethel, but with a sick twist of realisation he realised what it would look like when he and his men returned home. The hunt was supposed to demonstrate that crime would be dealt with swiftly and fairly, be it against Woads, villagers, or the few Romans that remained. Instead he was returning with two dead Woads, no explanation as to who had killed them and no idea of what to do next. As loath as he was to return to the fort under such inauspicious circumstances, they could not go on without knowing what they were looking for, nor could they stay here. Reaching out towards Eadgyth, he grasped the young man by the arm and pulled him to his feet. His brother's body flopped limply in his arms, the blank eyes accusing. _You led me here, you let me die._

"Ead.." The sudden familiar hiss of an arrow loosed from it's bow, cut his words short. Throwing himself sideways and dragging the scout with him, Arthur flinched as the bolt slammed into the tree bare inches from where they had been standing. "Knights?" the word was more of a roar than a command, but although his men were obviously alert, their weapons ready and their horses agitated at the sudden tension, no enemy revealed itself. The forest remained silent, and backing their horses up to better protect their commander, the knights would have exchanged looks of confusion had they dared take their eyes from the trees. Whoever had shot the arrow had appeared from no-where, and from the looks of things vanished just as swiftly.

"What in the name of the Gods is happening here?" Gawain muttered to Galahad.

The younger knight gave a half shrug, his arms beginning to tire from holding his bow-string tense, his eyes scanning the silent forest. "Don't know. Even Woads aren't that fast."

"Yeah, but if it ain't Woads.." Bors narrowly managed to prevent his skittish horse backing into Lancelot's gelding's rump, "then what the bloody hell is it?"

"Whoever it is they aren't friendly," Lancelot said grimly, "and at the moment they seem to have something of an advantage."

Arthurheard the last comment and silently agreedShoving Eadgyth towards his pony, he helped hoist the man's dead brother onto the front of his saddle, and motioned for Bors to dismount and take Wulfhere's corpse. At the very least he could give to two men a decent burial, and if they were very lucky the two bodies might provide some sort of clue as to the identity of the murderer. Quickly mounting his own horse, Arthur signalled his men to follow him, and with a clatter they made their way back to Hadrians wall.

* * *

Lucy paused at the top of the staircase, torn between descending it, seeking out Brennus or returning to Tristan's room. Truly she was behaving like an idiot, she thought, although were it due to her indecision, her recklessness or her confusion, she could not say. Peering down the stairwell she caught a glimpse of the guards below, and satisfied that there was no immanent danger, rapped on Llynya's door.

"Who is it?" Llynya answered quickly, her voice muffled, and after reassuring her, Lucy unlatched the door and slid inside. The older girl visibly relaxed at the sight of her friend and managed a smile, shifting the baby at her breast slightly.

"Lucy. It's good to see you ." Motioning her forwards, Llynya smiled as the blonde girl perched herself on the side of the bed and brushed her fingers over Taran's head. "I was coming to find you as soon as this one here was finished." Although she nodded at her son, she did not take her eyes off her friend. "What's wrong Lucy?" she asked gently. "I know things are frightening at the moment, but Arthur and the knights will make it right, you'll see."

"It's not that." Lucy tickled Taran's wrist, letting the child grip her finger with a pudgy hand and avoiding its mother's eyes. "I know Arthur'll look after us, and you've got Gawain, and it isn't like it used to be - even Kyrie seems to like Galahad and she doesn't trust many people, and…"

"Lucy?" Llynya's voice was quiet, but it was authoritative enough to silence the younger girl. "You know that you can talk to me."

"Was I babbling?" Lucy wrinkled her nose ruefully. "I came here to see if you were alright, and I haven't even asked you yet."

Llynya laughed and gave Lucy a brief hug when the girl kissed her on the cheek, reassuring her that she was perfectly fine. Lucy released Llynya reluctantly. She had been terrified when her friend had been hurt, for the sweet natured girl was the closest thing to a sister that she had ever had, and it was from her that she automatically went to in search of guidance. Llynya knew how to listen and didn't judge, but still it was difficult to put into words what troubled her.

"It's Tristan, isn't it?" Llynya's voice was matter-of-fact, and Lucy laughed at her bluntness; she had anticipated another few minutes dancing around the topic before she actually mentioned the scout's name.

"Thought so." The older girl settled her babe into the crib beside the bed and gave her friend a knowing look. "You like him."

"I don't… I mean I don't not like him…" Lucy frowned and turned her attention to the blanket she was sitting upon. Really, Brennus had the most horrible taste in colours. "I never know what he's thinking, he rarely talks and when he does I still can't work out what he's thinking."

"So you find him intriguing?" There was a hint of amusement in Llynya's voice, but when Lucy shot her a suspicious look, the dark-haired girl was as serene as ever.

"He's… I don't know." She tugged at the corner of the blanket, unravelling several stitches. "I kissed him," she admitted almost guiltily.

"I see. And did he kiss you back?" Lucy nodded but did not look up. "And did you like it?" After a pause, Lucy nodded again. By now she had worked a large hole in the blanket and was twisting the stray threads around her fingers. Llynya sighed. "Lucy, for goodness sake leave that alone, Brennus'll make you buy him a new one otherwise. It's obvious that Tristan cares for you," raising her hand when the younger girl opened her mouth to protest, she continued. "Apparently he doesn't take his eyes off you, and did you or did you not sleep beside him? Behaviour most unlike our scout from what I know of him."

"Yes, but that was because he was upset at being left behind on the hunt." Lucy decided on a half-truth rather than an outright confession.

"The hunt?" Llynya raised an eyebrow. "I was talking about the night the guards were killed and I was hurt." Watching as Lucy blushed, she laughed. "Twice then - I wonder that you even need to ask advice."

"It was just sleeping," Lucy said hastily. "I know, I mean I think…" she shifted uncomfortably. "He likes me you know, in the way a man likes a woman."

"But you want something more," Llynya finished.

Lucy nodded. Fidgeting again, she picked up the blanket and dropped it when her friend glared at her.

"How did you know that you loved Gawain?" She said at last.

Llynya smiled wistfully. "He touched my hand once when I gave him a cup of water."

"That's.." Lucy looked at her friend incredulously. "That's well, a bit.."

"Stupid, irrational, insane?" Llynya laughed at her friend's startled expression. "I suppose it is at that. Nonetheless that is what happened, and although I fought it at first I never questioned the truth of it."

Lucy shifted on the bed and crossed her legs beneath her.

"Tristan wants to die," she said quietly. "He's alive but he's like a bird with a broken wing - when he's healed he'll fly away again, and he'll find a way of destroying himself." Swallowing hard, she met Llynya's eyes. "I can't let him do that. He pretends that he feels nothing, but he does - he _does _Llynya. It's like he's given up on the world, or he thinks it's given up on him, and I don't know what to do." Shoving a hand over her face, Lucy rubbed away the tears that were threatening to fall, grateful of her friend's hand that gently squeezed her own.

"Tristan has spent a long time alone," Llynya said gently. "He was taken from his family, from his home, when he was just a boy. The only kindness he has known is from his fellow knights, and he has buried most of them. Loyalty to Arthur and his friends gave him purpose, gave him a reason to fight; how many times do you think he could run off on one of his scouting trips if he had a mind to? Now the world has changed again and he's confused and afraid."

"Tristan's never afraid," Lucy muttered.

"He's just a man," Llynya said kindly. "His armour is thicker than most, but there are chinks in it - you've already found that out for yourself. The only question is whether you want to strip it from him completely, for there will be no turning back if you do."

"I want him to be happy." Tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, she gave Llynya a shy half smile. "I want to help him be happy. Gods, I just want _him," _she sighed ruefully. "I've turned into one of those silly maids that moon after the knights outside the tavern, haven't I?"

"A little bit, yes," Llynya said wryly. "Go on, if I know Tristan he'll be climbing the walls waiting for news of Arthur and the others - Bors had to practically wrestle him back into bed yesterday. Go and sit on him." She smiled mischievously, "unless you think of a more agreeably way to keep him quiet."

Lucy giggled and shook her head in mock rebuke. "And to think that I defended you from gossip when you first came here! Alicia swore that you had bewitched Gawain with a spell, and Eva said that you had the spirit of a giant cat that you had killed bound to you, so that it would scratch the eyes out of your rivals."

Llynya laughed and shook her head. "I'll have to remember that. The only things here that scratch are the mice in the attic, now go - Taran is asleep for once and I'm keen to get some rest myself - I don't know whether he or Gawain snore loudest."

"Sorry." Kissing her friend on the cheek, Lucy smiled indulgently at the sleeping baby before hurrying towards the door.

"Good luck," Llynya whispered as the door clicked shut behind the departing girl, "and don't take any nonsense from him." Sighing, she tugged the blanket over her shoulders and was asleep even before Lucy had worked up the courage to open the door to Tristan's chambers.

* * *

"Lucy?"

Tristan looked at her with surprise when she returned. He was half dressed, his breeches buttoned , one long leg propped against the wall as he tugged his boot on. Although his torso was still swathed with bandages, he bent and flexed with little effort, his muscles sliding easily beneath the skin, and Lucy swallowed hard at the knowledge that she had little chance of keeping him in the chamber if he truly desired to leave it.

"Where are you going?"

He didn't bother to answer, merely flicked her a glance from beneath his tangled hair and reached for his jerkin.

"You shouldn't…" Averting her eyes from his torso - _and oh Gods that was not fair, how was she supposed to argue when he was half naked in front of her?- _she squared her shoulders and looked at him crossly. "Arthur will return soon, there is no need for this."

He merely grunted at that and pulled his shirt over his head, failing miserably to stifle the wince that escaped him at the movement.

"Hand me my hauberk."

Lucy looked down to where he gestured and picked up the heavy leather garment. Tristan's hand remained outstretched, waiting for her to hand it to him, but instead of obeying the unspoken order, she shoved it behind her.

"No."

"No?" he looked at her in disbelief.

"No," she repeated. "Arthur and the knights will be back soon, even if they are in trouble what are you going to do? Bleed on their attackers? They need you here."

"I am of no use here," he snarled, pacing towards the window. His eyes glittered and he seemed to hum with nervous energy as he stalked around the room. Lucy watched him steadily as he approached her, but she could not suppress a shiver of nervousness that was not entirely due to fear.

"Frightened little girl?" He stopped just in-front of her, both arms braced upon the wall, effectively trapping her. Lucy was soft beneath him, eyes wide. Frustration raged within him, anger and despair, and he waited for her to bolt, waited for her to scream, waited for her to leave him once and for all.

"No." Winding her arms around his neck , she kissed him. Softly at first, but more fiercely as she adjusted to the still strange sensations. The rough stone wall was harsh against her back when he lifted her up, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, her breath coming in tiny whimpers when he kissed her neck, her collar bone. There was air in the world somewhere, but not in her lungs, and when he cupped her breast, one thumb circling a nipple that was suddenly so sensitive she whimpered at the slow caress, she dropped her head to his shoulder. He was whispering things, words in a language that she didn't understand, and although she could knew deep down that he was hurt, that they shouldn't be doing this, she kissed him back just as hungrily. His skin was smooth, muscles beneath coiled and tense. She could feel him hardening against her and involuntarily tightened her legs around him, forcing herself closer and wringing a primal growl from his throat.

"_Lucy." _That at least she did understand, and forcing her head up, she met his eyes. His pupils were wide, a faint flush warming his cheeks. She pressed a hand to his face, marvelling at the heat beneath the skin, and dropped her forehead to his.

"They're back," he whispered.

"Back?" Finally realising what he meant, Lucy let Tristan untangle herself from around him and set her back somewhat shakily upon her feet. "Arthur?" It was a stupid question; the clatter and shouting from the courtyard was unmistakable, and from the amount of noise something either very bad or very fortuitous had happened. "You should…"

"Yes." He looked at her for a long moment before brushing a lock of her hair away from her face with surprising gentleness. "Stay here until you are given word that it is safe."

Lucy nodded - in truth she was rather too overwhelmed to think of a suitable response. He was gone in an instant, and sinking to the floor, she wondered if she might not be safer down in the courtyard.

**A/N ****Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - good or bad I always appreciate anything you have to say. (Goddess - Wulfhere was actually a king of Mercia circa 675AD. He was actually a pretty staunch Christian so there is probably some irony with him being a Woad here, but never mind - I just liked the name lol, I hope he'll forgive me).**


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: Nothing that you recognise belongs to me.**

"_Gods." _It wasn't a particularly intelligent response to the scene that lay before her, but for the life of her, Lucy couldn't think of anything else to say. One of the Woad scouts - the _body_ of one of the Woad scouts was being laid carefully down by his brother, another limp figure was held in Bors's arms - and from the grimace on the burly knight's face, that man was no longer living either.

Lucy slid through the crowd of onlookers and joined an ashen faced Kyrie. The courtyard was filled with people eager to know the outcome of the hunt, but Kyrie had managed to find a vantage point on a couple of hay bales, and hoisting herself up, Lucy joined her on the precarious perch. "Are they…?"

"Two dead." Kyrie was pale, and she barely glanced at Lucy when the other girl clambered up beside her. "One of the scouts, and someone else. Not. It isn't Gal… I mean it isn't one of the knights."

"No." Lucy swallowed hard as Bors and Gawain lowered the unknown body onto the cobblestones. "Another Woad?" The corpse was dirty and dishevelled, but the tattoos that marked its already decomposing skin seemed to indicate that the man had been one of the Picts.

"Don't know." More used to bloodshed than her friend, Kyrie nonetheless looked away. "Perhaps that's Wulfhere - perhaps the danger is over."

Lucy nodded, but her chest suddenly felt tight, and it was not altogether due to the bodies that lay blank-eyed and bloodied before her. Arthur looked tense, as did his knights, and out of the corner of her eye she could see groups of Woads gathering. There was no overt hostility, no-one was shouting or making threats, but Arthur and his men weren't saying much either, and that was a far more ominous sign. If Wulfhere was dead and the threat to the fort removed, then wouldn't there be rejoicing, relief - wouldn't someone at least have _said_ something?

"Something's wrong." Kyrie sounded nervous, and Lucy inwardly agreed with her assessment of the situation.

"I think you're right." Without really thinking about it, her hand reached for the other girl, fingers squeezing in unspoken support. Tristan was speaking with his fellow knights, still too thin, too pale, but oddly graceful despite his limp, and Lucy smiled despite her worry. He would be irritated with her if he knew that she had defied his order to stay in the healing rooms, but since he himself was defying Brennus's advice, she couldn't see that he would protest too much. There was too much going on to hide away - too many questions that needed answering. Lost in thought, it took Kyrie's nudge to get her attention. The people in the courtyard had fallen silent, and by the look of things Arthur was poised to address the crowd.

"I bring you bad tidings." The big Roman's voice pierced the sudden silence, and Kyrie shot Lucy a worried glance. "The man whom we were hunting today, the man who was accused of the murders that have blighted our land, is dead." A few people cheered, and there was a smattering of applause, but it died off quickly. Arthur's face was grim, and judging by the way the knights behind him stood poised and alert behind him, there was less welcome news to come. "Neither I nor my men were the cause of Wulfhere's death. Wulfhere may have been a killer, but if so, he did not work alone. Aethel," he pointed to the dead scout's body, was shot by another archer, an archer who is still at large, and as yet unkown."

The crowd was silent for a moment, absorbing this new information, before erupting into a frenzy of questions. Wearily, Arthur held up a hand to halt the barrage. "I understand your concern - you have my word that I will do everything I can to find out what is happening, but for the moment you know as much as I."

"Do we?" A handsome young Woad man stepped from the crowd and looked fearlessly at the new king. "We have the bodies of three of my people - the true people of Britain, and nothing but the word of a Roman to explain them. It is strange that your phantom mad-man is so selective regarding his victims is it not?"

A muscle twitched in Arthur's cheek, but he kept his voice steady. "You are forgetting that two of my guards were killed, and a woman attacked. This threat concerns everyone."

An older man standing beside the previous speaker snorted in dismissal. "Two men from a local village and one of your knights' whores? Hardly anyone you wouldn't mind losing."

Gawain snarled and leapt forward, but was swiftly grabbed by Bors and Galahad. Shaking his head curtly at the blond knight, Arthur spoke calmly, but there was no mistaking the anger behind his words.

"No-one at this fort, be they Briton, Woad, Samartian or Roman, is expendable. All are under my protection, all have the same rights. Whatever the threat that we face is, we must face it together. We will hunt again, we will find the perpetrator if these crimes, that I promise, but it serves no purpose for us to fight among ourselves."

The words rang true, but looking around, Lucy saw indecision and plain disbelief on the faces of some of the Woads. Already some of the younger men were grouping together, their faces tense, and she knew with a sinking feeling in her stomach that it would not be long before real trouble started. Arthur informed the people of his intentions to increase the guards, and urged people not to leave their homes after dark unless they had to, but glancing at Kyrie, it was clear that she had the same thought. Unless the killer was caught soon, he would be the least of their problems.

Tristan followed his fellow knights towards the great hall, hiding his limp as best he could. The news Arthur had brought had not been good, and it was clear that trouble lay ahead, but he could not help but feel a shiver of relief at finally being freed from those damned healing rooms. Stumbling slightly, as he mounted the steps, he glared at Bors when he offered his hand, and forced his irritation down. His body and mind were things that he had always prided himself on having the utmost control over. Not for him Lancelot's skirt-chasing or Galahad's grumbling. He was Arthur's weapon. Afraid of nothing, oblivious to pain, to sorrow - the blade that Arthur wielded against his foes. And now look at him! Weak as a young calf, utterly useless when his commander had needed him, and infatuated with a girl who kept looking at him as though he was something better than he was. He shoved the last thought away and settled into his familiar place at the round table.

Arthur had little to say, but it was obvious that he was concerned about the day's events. Watching

the big Roman give his orders to the knights, Tristan, as well as the rest of the knights, was well aware of what Arthur _wasn't _saying. Time was running out, and if the Woads really did decide that Arthur was behind the killings, all hell would break loose.

"Tristan?" The scout looked up when his commander said his name. "Brennus has released you from the healing rooms?" Nodding, Tristan did not bother to inform his friend that "released" might not have been the most accurate description - he had no desire to be shunted back to bed, which is exactly what would happen if Arthur found out that he was going against the wishes of the healer. "Are you able to ride?" Tristan nodded once more. In truth he _wasn't_ sure - wasn't really sure of anything much at all, but if Arthur needed his help, then while he breathed he would give it. "At first light I need you, Bors and Gawain to go back to where we found Aethel and Wulfhere. I'll have Eadgyth show you the way. We might have missed something - perhaps you can find something that will help. A track, anything."

The scout nodded without saying anything. He was used to orders such as these, and knew without arrogance that he was one of the best trackers there was. If there was a clue to the identity of the archer, then he would find it.

Bors gave a slight grin. "It'll be good to have you back with us Tris. Hasn't been the same without your sunny temper, and gods knows Gawain can't tell a joke to save his life."

"Don't need to," Gawain said placidly. "We all get enough amusement from watching you cower from Vanora whenever she's in a temper."

"Cowering?" Bors growled, "I seem to remember you hiding under…" He fell silent at a glare from Arthur.

"I do not need to tell you all how serious this is," the newly-crowned king said solemnly. "This is supposed to be a time of peace - for all of us. I am sorry to ask yet more of you. We must catch this killer, and to do that I need you all alert and ready."

One by one, the knights nodded, and pledged their fealty with a quiet "aye".

Arthur nodded, regarding his men with a familiar mixture of affection, camaraderie and guilt, before rising and leaving the room. The knights stayed put, finishing the goblets of wine that Jols had thoughtfully provided, and saying little.

For once it was Lancelot who broke the silence. "Why in the name of the Gods did we stay in this bloody country?"

Galahad and Bors both laughed, Gawain smiled, and the corner of Tristan's mouth twitched slightly in amusement. Despite Lancelot's show of mutiny, he stayed for the same reason that they all did. Arthur.

Lucy and Kyrie sat down on the stone steps in front of the healing rooms and watched as the people slowly left the courtyard. The air still hummed with tension, and unanswered questions, but as yet there had been no real trouble.

"Why do you think he's doing it?" Lucy wondered aloud. "This is all so strange. I mean the girl that Lucan knows said she heard someone say his name - it's not exactly easily mistaken is it?"

Kyrie shrugged. "He could have had an accomplice. Anyway, who did Cassie overhear anyway? Some woman? Perhaps she's the killer."

"Perhaps." It was getting cooler as the evening drew in, and Lucy tucked her hands between her knees to keep them warm. "Whoever it is, must be quite the fighter though. I mean taking on Arthur and almost all the knights, plus the two scouts? How on earth did they escape?"

"I know." Kyrie bit her lip and tucked her knees a little closer to her chest. "Don't blame the Woads for being suspicious."

"Kyrie!" Lucy looked at the dark-haired girl in outrage. "You don't think…"

"No, no! I'm not saying that at all." Frowning, she huffed in annoyance. "But we've been close to the knights and to Arthur. We've seen what they're like. It's not like most here can say that, and you know that I'm no friend of Woads, but you can see their point. A child dead by a knights' arrow, now Wulfhere and that scout…"

"I know." Lucy sighed and got to her feet. "We'd best just hope nothing else happens." Nodding at the two guards who passed them, she held out her hand and pulled Kyrie up. "We'd better go. Vanora'll be waiting, and I'll bet you a night's pay that it'll be packed at the tavern tonight."

Kyrie shook her head. "No deal - I'll be glad to be there, and I'm working. Can't imagine many people wanting to be alone tonight."

"True." Crossing the courtyard, they made their way to the tavern, glad that two burly guards had been stationed at the entrance to the little path that served as a shortcut between the stables and the main part of the village.

"Good evening Tibor, Caleb." Lucy greeted the men politely; she knew them of old from serving in the tavern, and was well aware of their reputation as being good soldiers. "Be careful not to get too cold out here."

"Are you offering to warm us up?" Caleb laughed, his bushy blond eyebrows almost disappearing under his helmet. "Because if you are…"

"I'll have none of that nonsense, thank-you very much," Lucy said with mock annoyance. "But come down the tavern when you've finished - I expect Vanora could rustle you up a mug of ale or two."

"Believe me lass, by the time we've finished here, nothing will sound finer," Tibor grinned. "Except of course, the company of two lovely ladies."

Kyrie and Lucy looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Giggling, they hurried down the path, only to be brought up short by a shape that stepped out of the shadows and blocked their path. Both girls slid to a halt, backing up, Kyrie grabbed Lucy's arm and pulled her away from the sudden arrival.

"Come on!" Tugging her friend back in the direction they had come, the dark haired girl took a breath and made to scream for the guards, only to be silenced by Lucy's quiet command.

"Wait." Adrenaline still shivered through every nerve, and her heart thudded almost painfully in her chest, but Lucy could see what her friend could not. This was no bow-wielding killer that stood before them, it was a woman in perhaps her early thirties, her hair tangled, tears streaming down her cheeks. As though emerging from the shadows had taken the last of her strength , the woman crumpled to the ground, her face hidden by her hair, her shoulders shaking.

"She's a Woad," Kyrie whispered to Lucy, stepping a little closer. "Hello?" She stepped forward tentatively. "Are you alright?"

The woman lifted her head at the question, her brow furrowing as though she could not quite make sense of the two girls before her.

"Merlin." Her voice was scratchy and hoarse, as though she had been crying for a long time. "I need to find Merlin, I have to tell him…" She coughed, and both girls exchanged panicked glances when a trickle of blood, black in the dim light, trickled down her chin. "Wulf.. Wulfhere's dead, and he won't stop, no-one can stop him." She looked around wildly, her hair fluttering in the breeze that whispered through the passageway.

"Who won't stop?" Lucy crouched before the woman. "Stay calm. We'll get help, we'll find Merlin." She shot a panicked look at Kyrie, meaning to tell her to run for help, but anything she could have said was torn away by the wind that suddenly roared past them, knocking the younger girl down and sending Lucy tumbling onto the woman in front of her. For a moment she fought for breath, the Woad's dirty hair tickling her nose, the sound of a hundred hissing voices tugging and pulling at her.

"Tell Merlin." the woman's voice was laboured but fierce against her cheek. "Tell him Hengist is coming for his daughter. Tell him that the seal is broken. I tried… my little girl, he has to help…"

Her voice trailed off, and with horrified realisation, Lucy knew that the woman was dead. Scrambling backwards, she landed painfully on her rump, closing her eyes as the last of the wind stung her eyes and whipped up the dirt. The sudden storm was gone as swiftly as it had come, and opening her eyes, Lucy turned to see Kyrie gazing in horror at the body of the Woad woman.

"What…" she breathed, seeming unable to look away.

"Don't know." Regaining her wits somewhat, Lucy scrambled to her feet, hooking a hand under Kyrie's arm and half dragging her to her feet. "Run."

Kyrie did not need telling twice. Scrambling back the way that they had come, cannoning off the wall and sliding in the muddy ground, they were too breathless to cry out, urging themselves ever faster towards the silhouettes of the two guards who stood with their backs to them at the end of the passage.

"Tibor!" Lucy said breathlessly, reaching out for the big guard's shoulder. "There's a…" Her words trailed off as the guard slid sideways , knocking over his companion and sending both their newly severed heads bouncing into the courtyard. Lucy stared blankly into Tibor's sightless eyes, barely registering the soft sigh and thud as Kyrie fainted behind her.

_Oh Gods, _she thought numbly. _What is going on?_

**A/N : plonks chapter down and runs away before anyone can tell me off for taking so long to update - lol. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. (oh and I will continue the "Users Guides" for those that have been reading them, incase anyone wonders). **


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me. There is sexual content in this chapter - nothing too graphic, but more explicit than has been in the fic so far, so for those who don't like that sort of thing, or are too young (shame on you for reading an "M" rated fic lol) you have been warned. **

Lucy swallowed hard. Kyrie's head was resting against her heel, a warm, soft thing that was utterly at odds to the horror in front of her. Turning her head, Lucy fell to her knees and vomited, the burn of bile in her throat serving to centre her thoughts somewhat. The fuzzy edges of the surrounding buildings sharpened, the gritty ooze of the mud between her fingers and under her knees became clearer, and avoiding looking at the mutilated bodies of the guards, Lucy scrambled backwards.

"Kyrie?" The slender girl did not respond to her gentle shake. "Kyrie, come on!" Grabbing her friend's arm, Lucy attempted to haul it over her shoulder, only to unbalance and fall sideways. The courtyard was silent, the wind gone, and breathing hard, Lucy scanned the shadows. _It's quiet 'cos their dead, quiet 'cos their dead. Leave her and run, leave her and run, _the voice in her mind whispered. _How you gonna fight a ghostie?_

"Shut up!" Lucy whispered to herself, shaking her head at the unwelcome thoughts. Taking a deep breath, she slapped Kyrie's face as hard as she could, flinching at the bright imprint of her hand that bloomed against the pale flesh.

"Kyrie?" Almost giggling in panicked relief as the girl beside her frowned and attempted to open her eyes, Lucy tugged at her shoulder. "Wake up, we've got to go."

"What?" Scrambling unsteadily to her knees, Kyrie swayed slightly, glancing up at Lucy through muddy tangles of dark hair. Something in the blonde girl's expression spooked her, and she looked towards the courtyard, only to find herself hauled to her feet.

"Not now. Run."

"But.." Lucy didn't stop to argue. Half dragging her friend, she made her way to Arthur's quarters. The king's rooms were close by and always guarded: there they would find sanctuary, there they would find help.

"Miss?" The burly knight that Lucy almost ran into, looked at the two girls with surprise. "Are you alright?"

"The… I mean…" Lucy found herself lost for words, and shoved Kyrie past the guard. "Tibor, Caleb,the guards by the tavern, they're dead." The big man made to move forward, but Lucy grabbed his sleeve. "Please, we have to see Arthur; whoever, whatever killed them, you can't fight it alone. Please," she repeated when he looked at her incredulously. "Swords don't…" She shrugged helplessly. "We have to speak to Arthur."

"The king is busy," the guard said suspiciously, "I have orders.."

"We don't have time for this." Taking a deep breath, Lucy remembered what Vanora had taught her as an apprentice tavern girl, and kicked out. "I'm really, really sorry," she muttered apologetically. The guard fell to his knees holding his crotch, and this time it was Lucy who was dragged away by her companion.

"Bolt the door behind you," Kyrie called back to the guard, but the door to the little staircase the servant girl ran to slammed shut before either of them had a chance to see if their advice had been followed.

Both girls scrambled up the narrow stairs as hastily as they could. There were no lanterns lit to guide their way , for the short-cut was little used by the servants, and so, when Kyrie pushed open the door at the end of it, both girls flinched at the blaze of light, their eyes unable to make sense of the scene before them.

"Lucy?" The low voice was immediately familiar, and squinting, Lucy made out the unmistakable shape of Arthur's scout approaching.

"Tristan?" Lucy gave a slightly breathless giggle that sounded a little insane even to her own ears. "We need to talk to Arthur. There's a dead woman, and the guards are dead, and she said Hengist is coming, and the guards are dead and…"

"Be quiet." Almost before she knew what was happening, Lucy found herself unceremoniously shoved down onto one of the chairs that circled the huge table in the centre of the room. _The round table, _she thought with a dim sort of amazement; _this is the heart of Arthur's Britain. _Tristan was snarling something to a servant boy who had abandoned the empty wine goblets he had been collecting, and finally making sense of what was happening, Lucy scrambled away.

"It's alright." Raising a hand to the servant boy who looked dubiously between her and the dark knight beside her, and suddenly realising just how alarming she and her friend must look, Lucy gave a wobbly smile. "The blood… It isn't mine, or Kyrie's." She nodded towards the dark-haired girl who stood wide-eyed between Galahad and Bors. "We don't need a healer, we need to speak to Arthur, can you get him please?"

"I…" Obviously deciding that discretion was very much the better part of valor, and unwilling to argue further, the boy vanished with a nod.

"The guards are dead." Lucy was well aware that she was repeating herself, but for the life of her, she couldn't come up with anything more intelligent.

"I know sweetheart." Picked up before she had time to protest, Lucy found herself back in the chair that she had only recently vacated, Gawain's solid strength comfortingly warm beside her. "Sit for a moment, Arthur will be here soon."

Lucy nodded. She was dimly aware of Tristan behind her, his hand just grazing her hair, but upon meeting Kyrie's eyes she felt fear, heavy and immovable, settle in her belly. Whatever had happened in that alleyway earlier was beyond explanation, and the Woad woman who had tried to help was dead. How to tell a tale that even to her ears sounded ridiculous?

As Gawain had predicted, Arthur arrived swiftly, although without either his queen or Merlin. The two Woads had taken the decision to speak with their people and do what they could to reassure them of the new king's intentions. Kyrie dropped her eyes when she saw the worry in Arthur's eyes - difficult enough to comprehend a world where ghosts roamed; the knowledge that their ruler might be mortal, might feel pain was too frightening to comprehend. Lucy, for her part, spoke clearly, told all that she knew and fled as soon as the king released her, clambering up the nearest staircase and following the dimly lit hallways until she found the King's private healing rooms. Since the king was unhurt and only a very few people had reason to make their way up to the chambers, she was relatively safe, Lucy told herself. It was surely safer than being in her little cottage, and at least there was some semblance of peace here - a moment to gather her thoughts.

The remains of a fire was little more than embers in the grate, but still emitted a little warmth, and crouching beside it Lucy closed her eyes, welcoming the heat. The room was warm, it was quiet - it asked nothing of her. A rat scuttled towards a half-shredded pile of bandages on the floor, jumping over Lucy's ankle, and she squeaked in surprise, only to find the sound smothered by a hand over her mouth.

Terror gave her strength, sheer outrage that even now she was being hounded, made her throw her attacker backwards and punch blindly towards the assailant. There was a moment of shuddering pain and satisfaction when her fist hit flesh, and scrambling to her feet she reached for the poker beside the hearth, only to lower it in confusion.

"Tristan?"

The scout raised an eyebrow at her proposed weapon and watched her discomfort with an almost clinical detatchment.

"I came to see if you were alright." Licking his already swelling lip, he circled her, almost seeming to melt into the shadows. "What did you think you were doing? I told you to stay where you were."

"I'm fine, I'm sorry…" Lucy let the poker drop to the floor with a clatter. The silent room seemed more of a trap than a haven now, and watching the amber glint of Tristan's eyes in the firelight, she swallowed hard. "No. I'm not sorry. You were supposed to stay in the healing rooms, Brennus said so. I'm not a child, I can take care of myself. This is as much my fight as yours - none of us are safe." Tristan nodded and took several steps towards her, close enough to let her feel the heat of him, but not close enough to touch.

"There is blood on your dress." The words were little more than a low whisper, his voice emotionless.

Lucy nodded. The air was heavy, the scratch of her bodice against her ribs almost unbearable as she watched him slide the knife from his belt. Slowly, so slowly he approached her. She did not take her eyes from his when he slid the blade beneath the buttons of her dress, the wicked blade cold and smooth against her skin. She did not flinch when he slid the outer dress from her shoulders and let it pool on the floor, and she did not run, although he would have made no attempt to stop her if flight truly was what she desired. Instead she stood pale and trembling, uncertain yet unafraid before him, and the shy smile she gave him put paid to anything other than his fierce desire to possess her. Backing her up against the high bench that ran along the wall, Tristan shoved aside the half empty bowls and bottles that littered its surface. Lucy opened her mouth to protest as a half dozen powders and potions stained her dress and were ground beneath the scout's boots, but found herself unable to say anything. She squeaked as he boosted her up to sit on the bench, her shift rucked up to mid-thigh, afraid but unwilling to leave. His eyes hungrily looked over her then glanced thoughtfully at the bowl of water that had half-spilled across the worn wood.  
"Little Lucy." His voice was low, and she shivered involuntarily. "No one has touched you like this." It was a statement rather than a question, but she found herself unable to answer, shivering as a long finger traced its way up the curve of her cheek . "Am I right?" He tipped her chin up, stepping forward to stand between her thighs, parting them even as she wondered blearily if she should stop him. Gripping the bench with trembling fingers, she flicked her eyes up and nodded mutely. "Good girl." Dropping his head, he placed a chaste kiss to her forehead, suppressing a groan at the trembling of her body beneath him. Gods but he wanted her. He cupped a hand into the water, bringing a palmful against her upper chest and tipping it over, watching dry-mouthed as it ran down the front of her shift. He could hear her pulse galloping, feel her hand reach out and grip his tunic fiercely.

Admiring his handiwork as the white cotton turned pinkish where it clung to her skin, the nipples beneath pebbling, Tristan picked up the bowl and tipped the contents over Lucy's shift. She gasped and wriggled, half attempting to escape, but he pushed her backwards, calloused but gentle hands cupping her breasts, letting the water soak into the material. At that, Lucy nearly _did_ pass out. His eyes darkened as he traced the neckline of her shift, one long finger sliding down her décolletage. She whimpered, and unable to stop himself, he pulled her to him, fighting for control as his aching arousal pressed against her. "Gods Lucy…" he panted, dropping his mouth to her collarbone and licking the soft skin. Unable to stop himself, he let his thumbs brush lightly across her nipples, now clearly visible and standing erect against the wet cotton. She gasped so sharply that he went still and looked into her eyes, thinking he'd taken this too far too fast. She was a virgin, she was unused to seduction, and she was at his mercy. Fighting down his own need, he let go of her arms. She deserved better than this - what in the name of the Gods was he doing? This was Lucy, not some tavern whore.  
Lucy felt him suddenly pause and reached out for him when she saw the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. She knew that she would appear a complete and utter fool for begging, but if he left her here like this she'd lose him. Everything that lay so close and yet just out of reach would be naught but embers and forgotten regret. "Don't stop. Please, Tristan, don't stop." Her words were a little hard to decipher, given the way she was gasping for breath, but the tightening of her fingers against his wrist and the panic in her eyes left no room for doubt. Tristan didn't give her a chance to change her mind. One hand moving to again cover a breast with his palm, his other arm went around her shoulders and he tipped her back and kissed her. She accepted the kiss, welcomed it. Boneless, she slumped against the wall, trembling fingers tangling in his hair, legs flexing to curve around his waist. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think. His mouth was moving over her parted lips, insistently increasing the pressure before swiping at her with his tongue, plunging inside her. A scream caught in her throat as he thoroughly explored her, slowly and sensuously thrusting his tongue deep inside her mouth. Just when she thought she couldn't take it another second, he broke away and dropped his hand from her breast to yank her hips closer, her crotch flush up against him. The heat of his erection trapped behind the worn leather of his breeches rubbed against her, and she let out a mewling cry as he urgently whispered in her ear.

"Let go, Lucy. Move. Do whatever feels right." He'd been with enough women to know that she was close to completion, and fought back his desire to simply rip away the barrier of their clothing and take her. He was the first man to do this for her, to give this to her, and by the Gods he would savour it.  
Lucy wasn't sure she comprehended a single word he said, but instinct and limitless need overshadowed any possibility of holding back. With her legs hooked around his calves, she shamelessly rubbed herself against the delicious hot friction of his breeches. The secret place between her thighs was slickly wet, and not from the water, strangled noises came from her throat as she struggled for breath.

An arm still around her shoulders and holding her to him, her face tucked into his chest, Tristan sought out one of her trembling hands and intertwined their fingers in a tight, firm grip. For some odd reason, that did it. Lucy let out a high pitched yelp that abruptly cut off as she lost her voice. The tendons in her wrist shook and strained as she squeezed his hand, hips jerking forward to seek all the contact she could get. She even bit him, a mouthful of tunic clenched in her teeth.

"Mine," Tristan hissed. He welcomed the pain, welcomed the shivering heat of her beneath him, the harshness of her breath against his cheek. He went over the edge a scant moment later. How could he not? It was the most erotic thing he'd ever witnessed, and he'd been witness to quite a bit. He was a little chagrined at coming in his breeches and couldn't exactly remember the last time that had happened, but was pretty sure it was a long time ago. Only Lucy seemed able to twist his reality around to something other than the norm, to make him doubt everything he thought he knew. He was fairly certain he was in love with her, and the knowledge made him step backwards on shaking legs.

"Yours?" her voice was barely a whisper, her blue eyes glazed slightly.

Tristan ran a hand over his mouth. He could still taste her, could still feel her around him, and with a strange calmness knew that there was no point lying to himself or her any longer. "Mine." He nodded almost thoughtfully, gathering her to him. "Mine."

**A/N: As a happy new year present… I bring you smut lol! Thanks very much everyone who reviewed the last chapter - hello new faces (well names anyway), I'm sorry for not replying to reviews, but at the moment I'm not getting any alerts from FFNet - not new chapter/review/story alerts - nada, so I'm assuming that other people haven't either, if anyone has any questions about the fic then my email is on my profile page. I don't bite, honest, although proper explanations will be in the next couple of chapters - I know I'm a tease, sorry, but this chapter had to be separate from the next to make sense.**

**Happy new year everyone! Stay safe, be happy, and remember that unlike puppies, novelty knitwear given by well meaning grandparents is just for Christmas, not for life.**


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

Kyrie shivered a little and tucked her hands into the folds of her dress, hunching her shoulders and doing her best to remain inconspicuous. All around her was noise and confusion - soldiers barking orders, weapons being handed out; the tense ordered mayhem that signalled battle. She wasn't quite sure what to do with herself. Lucy had disappeared, and while she felt out of place, curled in her little corner, she really didn't want to go outside, and was fairly sure that she would be stopped if she ventured out anyway. Chewing her bottom lip worriedly, she jumped as something warm and soft settled over her shoulders.

"Here." Galahad's smile flashed briefly in the firelight. "Don't want you getting cold."

"Oh..I…" tugging the cloak around her, Kyrie attempted a smile. "Sorry, am I in the way?"

"No." Slumping down beside her, the young knight rubbed a hand through his shaggy curls and yawned widely. "We're still waiting for the patrol to get back - no-one can do anything until then."

Kyrie nodded, picking at the dried mud that clung to her skirt. She was a little shy in his company, but welcomed Galahad's presence. He was warm beside her, and somehow comforting.

"Are you sure that you're alright? " He looked at her worriedly, and suppressed a smile when he saw her cheeks colour with embarrassment. "It must have been terrifying."

Lucy wrinkled her nose. "I'm fine. Lucky for me that Lucy was there; I'd probably still be passed out in a puddle if she hadn't brought me back." She gave a rueful laugh, "I didn't really make much account of myself I'm afraid."

"What could you have done?" gently he tipped up her chin, rubbing away a dirty mark on her cheek with his thumb. "We don't know what we are fighting, but whatever it is is certainly dangerous. Do you really think that you could have prevailed where armed guards could not?"

"No," Kyrie whispered. The bang of the door at the end of the chamber made them both jump, and with an apologetic smile and a pat on the shoulder, Galahad left to join his brothers in finding out what the returning guards had found.

* * *

"Sod all," Bors said in disgust, seemingly heedless of the large quantity of mud he was tracking into the big room. "Looks like the girls' ghosties got the guard after all. We looked all 'round - no tracks, no sign no nothing. I've got Brian, Tuchar and their men telling people to stay inside, but Eadgyth here," he gestured to the dark-haired Woad beside him, "can't find a trail. Looks like whoever killed 'em just vanished."

"Thank-you Bors." Arthur nodded at the burly knight, feeling his heart sink at the news. No tracks meant no trail, and no trail meant that any hunt he might organise would be pointless, especially as he was no longer sure what they were fighting anymore. "We wait until morning. Double shifts on guard duty, anything that looks even remotely suspicious, then you retreat." He looked sternly at the amassed soldiers who looked by turn either frightened or overeager for battle. At their nods, he dismissed them, watching as they filed through the wide doors, out into the darkness, back into the unknown.

_Damn, _Arthur swore silently to himself. He wanted to be out there with them, he wanted to fight whatever it was that threatened his people, and the knowledge that he should not, _could _not was bitter in his mouth. Even lost in frustration he felt the presence behind him before he saw her, and so the feather-light touch on his arm was a welcome comfort rather than an intrusion into his thoughts.

"I came as soon as I heard." Guinevere's voice was soft against his cheek, her silky head resting briefly against his shoulder. "Father has gone to consult with the elders - they may be able to help."

"The elders?" Arthur turned, placing his hands on his lover's slender shoulders. Merlin himself looked ancient; it was difficult to imagine anyone older than him living in these parts.

Guinevere smiled enigmatically. "My father had tutors just as you did. The lessons may be different, but in times of trouble we go back to those who taught us what we know, do we not?" She shook her head when he made to speak further. "It is not for you to know, or for me to speak of. You have my heart but not my history. Know that my father will protect us - and our people. If he learns anything of value then he will share it."

"I cannot fight what I do not understand," Arthur said quietly.

Guinevere smiled wistfully and brought his hand to her lips, placing a brief kiss upon his knuckles. "No my love, you cannot." Turning, she looked sadly upon the body of dead Woad woman. One of the soldiers had retrieved the corpse, but seemed at a loss to know what to do with it. He hovered beside the body having thrown his cloak over its head in a gesture of respect, obviously waiting for further orders. Walking swiftly over, Guinevere nodded to the man and gestured for him to step away. She dropped to her knees gracefully and pulled back the cloak, uncovering the frozen features of the dead woman. Muttering a brief blessing for the departed soul, the future queen closed the glassy eyes and looked thoughtfully at the body, her fingers tracing a tattoo on the corpse's wrist.

"Do you recognise her?" Arthur watched Guinevere trace the pattern of a stylised bird that encircled the dead woman's arm. "Is that a mark of her tribe?"

Guinevere shook her head and got to her feet, carefully re-covering the woman's face with the cloak. "It's not a tribal symbol." She bit her lip, considering her words carefully. "The bird that she has been marked with is a Druien. It's not often seen here - it's an Irish…well prophesying creature." At Arthur's blank look, she shrugged and struggled to explain. "She must be one of the Irish tribes, and I'd bet on her being one of the Druids from the north. The bird is a symbol to them - it's supposed to foretell things, give warnings. "

"She was a fortune teller?" Arthur looked at the young woman in confusion.

"Not really… Understand, I know little of these people - my father might know more. There was a woman who came to visit my father a few years ago. She had the same mark upon her arm, but she didn't stay long. From what I remember people saying she was part of the Connaught sect, but I thought that was just a myth."

"A myth?" Arthur reached out and encircled his wife's arm with a big hand. "What did people say about the Connaught sect?"

"Stories." Guinevere pulled away and gave the big Roman a warning look. "I heard stories that's all, and not fairytales at that. A group of women -enchantresses really. They were supposed to be able to conjure spirits, raise storms, strike a man down with lightning if he dared touch one of them." She sighed wearily. "The usual tall tales told to frighten children - I don't see what this has to do with Hengist or Wulfhere."

"You said that your aunt travelled north with Wulfhere after she had married Hengist," Arthur said quietly.

"North, yes!" Guinevere managed to stop herself from pacing in frustration, but her dark eyes flashed dangerously. "North could mean anywhere - why would they cross the sea to Ireland? _Why _would they I…" She saw the unfamiliar distrust in Arthur's green eyes and bit back a wince. "The Connaught sect was a group of women. Men were not allowed. I don't know…" Taking a deep breath, she entwined her fingers with Arthur's and held them tightly. "Father will know what to do. Please Arthur, I've told you everything that I know."

"I'm sorry." seeing the desolation in her eyes, Arthur pulled the slender woman to him, breathing in the scent of her and feeling her relax after a moments hesitation. "I don't know what to do, love."

He felt rather than heard her chuckle. "You will do what is right." Pulling away, she gave a faint smile. "It is a character flaw that I have long forgiven you for."

Arthur laughed reluctantly and kissed the top of her head. There wasn't much that he could do for the time being. Instructing Galahad to look after Kyrie, and double checking that the guards knew their orders and that they were to alert him of any news, he let Guinevere lead him to their bed.

* * *

"Are you sure?" Kyrie looked longingly at the warm water in the huge Roman style bath. The stone walls glowed in the light of the torches, the big chamber warm despite the coolness of the stone underfoot.

"Arthur said to look after you, and I'd rather be in charge of someone who isn't covered in mud," Galahad said firmly. "Go on, bathe. You needn't be afraid - I'll be watching." Kyrie looked at him wide-eyed and Galahad stumbled to correct himself. "Outside. I mean I'll be outside. I'd didn't mean…." Blushing slightly, he put the pile of clothing that Vanora had given him onto one of the long benches that ran along the wall. "Take your time, just call out when you are dressed." With a nod, he exited the chamber quickly, closing the door behind him.

Kyrie blinked in disbelief and stifled a giggle. She was alone now, and swiftly shedding her grubby dress and undergarments, she slid into the warm water. _The king and future queen bathe here,_ she thought to herself, _the knights bathe here._ For a moment she allowed herself the luxury of floating in the waist deep water, letting her hair rinse itself of the soap and her limbs become heavy as her muscles relaxed. The torch light cast strange shadows on the ceiling, but although she watched the flicker of golden light on the dark beams, her thoughts once again returned to Galahad. She had been a little surprised that he had not wanted to stay - not out of any particular desire for her, but because she couldn't really understand why he would have offered her the opportunity to bathe without gaining something for himself, even if it was merely voyeuristic. The Roman habit of bathing was a strange unfamiliar custom - everyone that she knew did as well as they could to keep clean by bathing in the river. Hot water was costly in terms of fuel and labour - Arthur was king and so entitled and used to such luxuries, but, and Kyrie smiled as she rinsed the last of the soap from her hair, surely there were few girls of her station that could claim to have shared the king's bathwater!

Drying herself off as best she could, Kyrie tugged the dress Vanora had brought over her head. It was rather too long and more than a little baggy, but it was clean and soft. Inwardly Kyrie made a promise to thank the red-haired woman for her thoughtfulness; despite Vanora's feisty nature lay a big heart, and this was not the first time that she had been the recipient of her kindness.

After tucking her hair into a plait, Kyrie approached the door nervously, clearing her throat. "Sir? I'm…" her mind suddenly went blank. _Not naked? Still alive? Have put my clothes back on? _"Er. Ready." Cringing at her idiocy, she hastily smoothed the ill-fitting dress as the door unlatched and the young knight entered the bathing room.

"Much better." He smiled at her with genuine pleasure, and despite herself Kyrie found herself smiling back. "You're much too pretty to hide under all that mud." Watching as she rolled her eyes in mock irritation, he added, "unless you are thinking of joining the Woads."

Kyrie giggled allowing the young knight lead her out the room and up a stone staircase. "Not at all, infact I am wondering if I might become a Roman, certainly their bathing habits are far more pleasurable than ours." Galahad merely laughed at that and shook his head.

"Lady beware - their words are clever but their methods are cruel, baths or no baths."

"So I've learned." She managed to keep the bitterness from her voice, but was suddenly very aware of the weight of his hand upon her arm. They had entered a long corridor that was obviously part of the soldiers barracks. From time to time they would pass an open door showing a small room sometimes empty, sometimes occupied by men either cleaning their weapons, playing cards or sleeping on the narrow cots that edged the walls. Familiar with such places and uneasy at what might happen next, Kyrie tried to keep her voice calm. "Where are we going?"

"Bed." Galahad looked at her in surprise. "Where did you think we were going?"

"I don't know." Forcing her features into some semblance of a smile, Kyrie felt her heart plummet. _Well what did you expect? _she told herself fiercely. _At least he's kind enough. It isn't as though you're a virgin anyway - why else would he offer his protection. _"Are we nearly there?" she asked with false brightness.

"Just here." Galahad pushed open the door and nodded politely at the young girl who had just finished filling the log basket by the side of the fire, letting her slide out as he ushered Kyrie into the room. "It's just one of the barrack rooms I'm afraid - Arthur wants everyone close for the time being, but the bed is soft enough I imagine." Picking up one of the tapers from the windowsill, he placed the tip in the fire until it caught before lighting the torch at the end of the room. Smiling as the tinder sputtered into life, he turned back to his charge. "Best that we can actually see what we are doing…" his voice trailed off as he took in the scene before him. Kyrie knelt in the middle of the bed, her over-large dress unbuttoned and showing a thin strip of flesh from neck to navel, the sleeves already sliding down her shoulders.

"Kyrie?" More than a little taken aback, he could do nothing but stare slack-jawed at her for a moment. "What are you doing?"

The dark-haired girl looked up with confused eyes. "I'm sorry, should I…?" reaching up, she made to pull the dress over her shoulders.

"No!" Finally gathering some semblance of his wits, Galahad crossed the room in two swift steps, catching Kyrie's wrists before she could completely disrobe. "This isn't… I mean you don't have to…" Frustrated, he wished that he had listened more intently when Lancelot had sweet-talked the tavern girls beside him.

"I am too plain for your tastes. I'm sorry." Kyrie's voice was fairly level, but her shoulders shook beneath his fingers. "I should go." She made a move to rise from the bed, clutching her still gaping dress around her.

"Kyrie…" Galahad did not let go of her, and lost for any suitable words, he did the only thing that he could. He kissed her. For a moment she was tense and unyielding - enough to wonder fleetingly if she had ever been kissed before at all, before relaxing, opening her mouth to him and reaching up to tentatively tangle her fingers in his hair. Releasing her, he wrestled his desire down with difficulty and gave the girl a rueful smile. "Kyrie, you are beautiful. You are also tired, scared and under my protection. Go to sleep, I promised Arthur that I'd look after you and I will - from over there." He nodded at the chair half hidden in the shadows. "Go to sleep." Rising, he made his way to the battered chair in the corner, averting his eyes as Kyrie scrambled under the worn blankets on the bed.

"Goodnight." Her voice was little more than a whisper, but the young knight smiled at the words.

"Goodnight, Kyrie," he said softly, but the words were lost, for she was already asleep.

**A/N Oh dear, I'm a soppy mare aren't I? Please forgive the complete lack of Tristan/Lucy in this chapter, but I couldn't resist pairing off Gal/Kyrie. Thanks very, very much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. It was my first attempt at a er "proper" smut scene, so I was really worried about posting it - thanks for all the kind feedback.**


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

Llynya opened her eyes blearily at the soft touch upon her shoulder. She didn't really need to look up to know that it was Gawain who had awakened her, but she gave a sleepy smile to the blond knight nonetheless. It had been a very strange night... Flicking her eyes over to the rather ramshackle crib that had been hastily constructed out of several cloaks stuffed into one of Vanora's cooking pots, Llynya felt the breath that she hadn't known she had been holding escape her. Taran slept peacefully, his dark lashes resting upon plump cheeks - completely oblivious to the panic and fear that surrounded him.

"He sleeps almost as deeply as you do," Llynya mumbled, stretching slightly and nuzzling against Gawain's broad chest when he brushed a kiss upon her forehead. "Is there any news?"

"Nothing of any use." Releasing his lover, Gawain looked affectionately at his son, before reaching for the hauberk and weapons that he had discarded hastily but carefully the night before. "Arthur wishes to speak with me and my brothers. Stay here, I'll tell you more when I know more."

Llynya nodded, kissing the burly knight farewell and stifling a smile at the glare he gave to the two soldiers stationed at the entrance to her room. Noble and proud her love might be, but he certainly lacked Tristan's gift for stealth and cunning. Debating whether to be annoyed or endeared by such a blatant case of over-protectiveness, Llynya found her attention caught by a shadow that hovered just behind the guards.

"Lucy?" There was no mistaking the gleam of the younger woman's pale hair as she rather sheepishly entered the room, giving the two guards an apologetic smile before shutting the door behind her.

"Oh come on Lucy, it can't be that bad." Llynya watched her pretty friend almost slink across the floor before settling herself on the bed, tucking her legs up neatly and resting her chin upon her knees. "You look like a kicked stable cat."

Lucy wrinkled her nose, but did not move when Llynya patted her shoulder.

"I'm an idiot," she said finally. "I don't know what to do. I know what I should do, and I know what I should have done, but everything is upside down now, and I don't know how to make anything right."

They were both silent for a few moments. Studying her young friend, Llynya took note of her flushed cheeks and dishevelled dress.

"You and Tristan slept together?"

"What? No!" Lucy shoved her dress down almost instinctually and looked at her friend with wide eyes. "No! I didn't…" her voice trailed off and her cheeks flushed. "We just… I mean…"

"I see." Llynya held back her grin with difficulty. "And did you enjoy not sleeping with Tristan?"

Lucy looked at Lucy with a mixture of suspicion and embarrassment, before giving a swift nod and fixing her eyes upon the wall.

"Lucy." Llynya gave a rather uncharacteristic giggle and hugged her friend, wrapping her arms around the smaller girl and giving her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. "There is nothing to be ashamed of."

"No?" Lucy looked at her friend doubtfully, "I'm no better than the tavern girls that I used to look down upon."

"Girls like Kyrie?" Llynya patted her friend's shoulder when she blushed and gave a half-hearted attempt to hide her face behind her long hair. "We don't choose who we fall in love with, Lucy. We don't always get the time that we would like with those we give our heart to. You love Tristan, I'd bet my life that he loves you. There is no shame in taking pleasure with those we love."

Lucy gave a half smile, and rested her head against Llynya's shoulder briefly. "The world doesn't make any sense anymore," she said quietly. "I don't know where my brother is, people are dying, there are ghosts of all things hunting us! And yet I am happy. I am afraid, but I am happy and I am frightened to feel such peace when the world seems to be falling apart."

Llynya smiled, dropping a kiss on the fair girl's forehead , before looking over at her sleeping baby. "The heart has it's reasons, Lucy. I fought mine for a long time, and believe me, defeat was the best thing that ever happened to me."

Lucy's mouth twitched in a half smile at that comment. "I don't think that you can call it defeat - you certainly seem to have won Gawain."

"It goes both ways." Llynya squeezed Lucy's fingers when she slid off the bed. "He's mine and I'm his; just be certain that this is what you want."

Lucy nodded, tightening her grip on Llynya's hand before letting go and unlatching the door.

* * *

"We must be alert at all times." Arthur Castus' s green eyes flashed as he looked at the knights sat around the round table before him. So few now remained- so few from the brave reckless youths that had once been placed into his care. Lancelot raised an elegant eyebrow, and Arthur forced his mind onto the matter at hand. Merlin sat behind him; near the table but not sat at it - a dissociation from Rome and it's followers that was more instinctual than an actual snub.

"I do not know what we are facing," Arthur began quietly. "Whatever it is, swords, arrows… they don't work against this threat." Bors muttered something under his breath, earning him a jab in the ribs by Gawain, but Arthur ignored him. "Whoever, _whatever,_ is doing this needs to be stopped, and I need you to be strong. That means _not_ fighting for the moment. We all have those that we wish to protect," for a moment his eyes strayed to the slender woman who was not much more than a shadow beside the door. "We must fight together or not at all," the big Roman finished, rubbing a hand tiredly through his dark hair. "I promise that I will find out what is going on, but I will not sanction wild goose chases after a phantom quarry - is that understood?"

One by one, the knights nodded and left the room. Frustrating it might be, but they had their orders, and no matter how it may chafe, Arthur's word was law. Lancelot paused as he exited the room, looking between Merlin and his commander. Arthur watched the younger knight hesitate, and met his eyes, but Lancelot said nothing, although his expression showed clearly the doubt that dwelled within his heart.

"And what of you, Merlin?" Arthur did not bother turning around to note the old man's expression. "Who would you protect?" Leaning forward, he rested his hands upon the polished wood of the round table. "What do you know?" Guinevere's slender body was suddenly beside him, her delicate hand upon his cheek, but he turned away and looked at her father. "Answer me, Merlin."

The old man's eyes seemed to flicker with something that could have been regret or anger, but his voice was steady.

"It is worse than I had hoped." Looking sadly at Guinevere, who had stepped away from her betrothed, he dragged his eyes away and met the king's eyes fearlessly. "I have spoken with those who knew my sister, and those who knew her son. The woman who died in the alleyway - the woman who was found by the two girls - she was Ida, Wulfhere's wife."

"His wife?" Guinevere looked at her father in confusion. "But why was she here? Why was Wulfhere here? They're both dead - why?"

"I don't know. " Merlin was unable to meet his daughter's eyes, shoving his hand into his pocket and bringing out a small bundle instead. Unwrapping the grubby piece of cloth, he set a golden torque onto the round table. "She left this, however."

"_Iodhan Moran_," Guinevere breathed. Arthur placed a big hand upon her shoulder, but she shrugged it off without really noticing. "Is this?…" Looking up at her father, she tentatively touched the heavy necklace.

"Aye." Grabbing his daughter's wrist, Merlin pushed her backwards. "Don't touch it. This is magic that I have no knowledge of."

"What are you talking about?" Arthur Castus looked at the trinket with bewilderment. "It's just a necklace."

"Not just a necklace." Guinevere's voice was quiet but her eyes were wide as she looked upon the simple golden torque. Slipping her fingers into Arthur's hand, she smiled when he squeezed them reassuringly, but did not look away. "That is no ordinary necklace, that is a fairytale - a myth."

"The Iodhan Moran." Merlin said quietly. "It was used in ancient times to determine innocence or guilt. Those innocent of the charge against them were safe, but those guilty…"

"It contracted - strangled them," Guinevere whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from the torque. "But why is it here?"

"I don't know." Pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, Merlin swiftly covered the torque and returned it to his pocket. "But I have a feeling that the answer to our troubles lies with whoever brought it here."

**A/N apologies for the delay in updating, and the shortness of the update - it was either post one huge chapter or two "normal" ones, I promise I won't take so long to pop the other one up.**

**Thanks very much everyone who has been reading/reviewing, I hope that I replied to you all. **

**Geek Note: The Iodhan Moran is an actual legend from Roman times. The gold came from the gold mines in Wicklow (Ireland), and the torque would contract on the neck if the judges of a trial gave a false judgement. Apologies to purists if I've messed the legend up, but , well... couldn't help the plot bunny :)**


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: nothing that you recognise belongs to me.**

**WARNING! This chapter contains "scenes of a sexual nature" as they say on the back of DVD boxes. I'm no-ones mother, but please be aware of this if you don't like reading smut or are one of the few innocent minds left out there. I can send you a pg-13 version of the chapter if you still want to know what happens with the story; just send me a PM.**

**For Mutpadarra - just because she's a sweetie.**

Lucy tucked her hair back and slunk down the stairs towards Arthur's conference room. Llynya was right. Tristan had wanted her and she had wanted him - was that really so bad? The way things were going they might all be dead soon anyway. An image of the two decapitated guards flashed into her mind and she shoved it away hastily. Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, she ducked into the shadows when the murmured speech and scuff of heavy footsteps signalled the approach of two guards. She watched them pass with a shiver of unease - if it was so easy for her to hide, then what else dwelt in the shadows? Suddenly realising just how idiotic she was being; running around without a weapon or anyone to watch out for her, Lucy scuttled down the passageway. The room that held Arthur's legendary round table was empty, however one of the larger rooms down the hall seemed to be occupied. Saved from any doubt by the hearty echo of Bors's laughter, she crept up to the doorway.

For a moment she paused. What was she supposed to do? If Tristan was in there then she could hardly walk up to him and ask for a moments privacy - not without making them both the laughing stock of the fort anyway. On the other hand, she couldn't stand cowering in the dark corridor waiting for him to come out. A rustle sounded at the end of the passage and Lucy tensed, relaxing slightly as the lithe form of a large rat whisked out of view.

"Lucy?" The voice was amused, rough, and very close to her ear. With a yelp, she flung herself backwards, only to be grabbed by a large hand around her wrist. "A word of advice." Gawain's blue eyes glinted in the flickering light, but his voice was gentle. "If you are going to eavesdrop then don't do it in front of polished brass candleholders. We saw you long before you came anywhere near us."

Lucy blushed, extracting herself from Gawain's grasp apologetically. The rumble of laughter emanated from the open doorway, and Lucy was uncomfortably certain that it was directed at her. "I wasn't eavesdropping." Darting a glance at the big blond knight, she decided to tell the truth: Gawain had always been kind to her after all. "I was looking for Tristan."

Gawain smiled, reaching out to pat the young girl on the shoulder. "He's in the soldiers' quarters. Come on, I'll take you there."

"You don't have to." Lucy almost squirmed with embarrassment. "If you'd just…"

Gawain shook his head and strode down the corridor, pulling the young girl behind him. "It's not safe to wander around alone Lucy, you know that better than most. Besides, if anything happened to you Llynya would have my hide, and I'm more afraid of her than your ghosties."

Lucy wrinkled her nose and suppressed a smile. Despite her conflicting emotions and the danger that they were all in, it was still a little funny to imagine such a burly knight being intimidated by a woman whose head barely came up to his shoulders.

"Tris!" Gawain bellowed, kicking the door that was situated at the end of a long passageway. "You've got a visitor."

Cringing at such a noisy welcome, Lucy dropped her head when the worn door opened to reveal Arthur's scout. He was naked from the waist up, his hair falling over his face, and his eyes flashing irritably.

"Gawain?" he snarled. "Do you want me to cut your…" he fell silent when his eyes rested upon the girl who cowered beside his fellow knight.

"Talk to Lucy, and don't let her wander off alone." Gawain shoved the blonde girl into the scout's arms before either had time to protest, slamming the door behind them with a chuckle.

"Sorry." Lucy backed up against the door, her heart thundering.

"It's Gawain who should be sorry," Tristan growled. Unsure whether going to Lucy would be perceived as a gesture of comfort or a threat, he turned away, putting a little distance between them. "He's right though," he said quietly. "You said that you would stay with Llynya, you said that you would stay safe."

"Nowhere is safe." Lucy raised her chin in an attempt at defiance, but did not meet his eyes. "But I feel safe with you."

"You know what I am, Lucy." Moving closer to her almost unwillingly, he brushed her heavy blonde hair back over her shoulder, revelling in the silky slide of the strands between his fingers. "I'm dangerous, you shouldn't be here."

"But I am." Gathering her courage, Lucy raised herself on tiptoes and brushed her lips against his. "I'm right in front of you."

Tristan groaned, pulling her against him and capturing her mouth. She was inexperienced and a little clumsy, her fingers touching and tugging at him, trying to bring him closer. Her fingers slid over his back as though she was frightened that he might push her away. Despite the pleasure that they had shared earlier, she blushed when he tugged her dress and shift over her head, her hands fluttering birdlike to cover her breasts and mound. Dainty fingers that he knocked away and replaced with his own, revelling in her slick sweetness as he gently pushed her down onto the bed, shoving his breeches down and onto the floor as he did so.

"Please," Lucy begged, squirming against him, her body shaking with need.

Tristan gave a faint smile that was belied by the intensity of his eyes. "No." Licking away the sweat that gleamed upon her flushed cheeks, he bit her swollen lower lip gently. "In my own time."

"Is that time soon?" she moaned, as his lips found one of her nipples through the veil of her hair and plucked at it.

Tristan gave a low growl and continued his assault on her breasts, rubbing his rough cheek over the smooth skin, and filling his mouth with sweet smelling flesh. He nuzzled the pale indent of her belly, breathing her in as he rested his head for a moment. For all that his own flesh ached for release and desire flooded through his veins, he was unwilling to rush things. This might yet be a dream; he might yet wake alone as he had so many times, frustrated and heart-sick. Lucy raised a tentative hand to his head, fingers snagging in the tangle of his hair.

"Tristan?" Her voice was quiet and a little apprehensive. He met her eyes again, before lowering his mouth to her belly. For a moment he could imagine a child growing there, and wondered if it was a portent or just a wistful dream. Moving lower, he gently pressed Lucy's legs apart. "What are you…" Raising herself up on her elbows, she looked at him in consternation, but when his lips brushed her flesh, her body arched sharply off the bed, her mouth opening in a silent cry. Tristan buried long fingers into the swell of Lucy's hips, stilling her trembling as his tongue stroked her, touching some part of her that made the blood sing in her head. Grabbing his hair with a shaking hand, Lucy managed to tear his mouth from her body. She wasn't sure what she was feeling, what was happening, but she knew that she needed him close; knew that she needed to see him, to feel his breath, his heat against her.

Tristan rose above her, thrusting into her deeply and smothering her cry of pain with his lips.

"Hush ," he whispered, remaining completely still. The hot slickness of her pulsed around him, and clenching his teeth, he forced himself to be patient. After a moment she reached up hesitantly, pressing her breasts against his chest and gave an experimental nudge of her hips. Biting back a groan, Tristan lowered his mouth to hers once again, and this time it was Lucy who found the courage to be bold. Hooking her legs around him, she whimpered when he withdrew, leaving her empty, and pulled him back to her, meshing herself with him in one writhing streak of endless fire. The feel of him inside, the moment when his hips crushed against hers was enough to send her spiralling over the edge. Clawing at his powerful shoulders, she buried her head into his neck, a cry ripping from her throat. He found his release scant moments later, silent and shuddering, rolling sideways so that Lucy lay limply against him.

Exhausted, both were silent, concentrating on catching their breath. Lucy shivered slightly as the draughty air cooled the sweat upon her body, and gave a sleepy smile when Tristan tugged a blanket over them, wrapping his arms around her as though he was frightened that she would flee.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked quietly.

Lucy thought for a moment with the tiny portion of her brain that did not seem to have been obliterated with pleasure and exhaustion. "Only for a moment." She kissed his shoulder lazily. "It was worth it. A thousand times over it was worth it."

Tristan grunted with something that might have been satisfaction, burying his face into Lucy's pale hair and breathing her scent in.

Biting her lip, Lucy let him pull her close, her body shivering at the caress of his breath against her skin that this time had nothing to do with the cold. Now that she had a moment to gather her thoughts, she could feel the stinging ache between her legs, the stickiness on her inner thighs. She wondered vaguely if she would look different when she next looked into a mirror.

"Was I…" she hesitated, unsure of what to say. It was common knowledge that Tristan frequented the whores at the wall, as did most of his brothers. Those women were skilled in the art of pleasing a man, and far wiser in the ways of the world. Had she given him pleasure? Should she go now? Was that the right thing to do? Was he waiting for her to leave? or was that wrong? Was he the one who was supposed to leave? She felt as though her heart might break if he left her side, but he had promised her nothing - she had no right to make assumptions. Scrambling to a sitting position, she tugged the blanket over her chest with sudden shyness and looked around for her clothes.

"Where are you going?" Tristan's voice was sharper than he had meant it to be, his eyes flashing dangerously as he reached out for her forearm.

"I thought…" Lucy let her lank hair flop in front of her face and lowered her eyes miserably. This night, his touch, had been so heart breakingly-beautiful, and she had messed it up with her naivety , her ignorance. "I'm sorry." At a loss as to what she should do, she attempted to slide off the bed.

"Sorry?" Tristan's fingers tightened around her arm with a force that made her wince. There was bitterness in his eyes when he pulled her around to look at him. "Sorry that you bedded me? Sorry for what your association with me means to your reputation?"

Lucy looked at him wide eyed, completely lost for words. Tristan released her arm and she watched the red marks of his fingers bloom red before fading. _There would be bruises there in the morning,_ she thought detachedly. Torn between a dozen confliction emotions, she blurted out the truth before she had time to censor her thoughts.

"I'm sorry that I love you. I'm sorry that I always say the wrong thing and keep finding trouble. I'm sorry that I'm a burden to you, but most of all I'm sorry that I ever thought you cared." With all the dignity afforded her by wounded pride, Lucy pushed herself off the bed, only to find herself yanked backwards and flipped onto her back, Tristan's hands pinning her wrists to the mattress, his eyes fierce as they studied her face.

"Not care?" He looked angry, and Lucy felt a flicker of nervousness at such intensity. "Lucy.." he said helplessly, releasing her. "Go if you want to - The gods know that I have no right to chain you to my side. You are young and beautiful; there are a thousand men out there more worthy of you than I. But know this; I've loved you since I've known you, and hate me if you must, I will not forget this night, I will not regret it." Reaching down, he picked up her shift and passed it back to her without meeting her eyes.

Lucy took the proffered clothing automatically, her fingers closing around the material and almost tearing it in her confusion. The one time that Tristan actually spoke to her of what he felt; something that she had always longed to hear, she herself became mute. _He loved her._ With a certainty that was bone deep inside and had nothing to do with her muddled brain, she dropped the shift and shuffled forwards, resting her head upon his shoulder and tentatively wrapping her arms around him. He didn't move away, but nor did he touch her. Brushing her fingers down the slightly furred plane of his chest, Lucy rested her palm over his heart.

"I love you," she whispered. "I don't want anyone else."

He didn't say anything, but both his hands came up to enclose hers, the thud of his heartbeat echoing the pulse of blood in her wrist that beat against his fingers. Resting her head against his shoulder, Lucy closed her eyes. There would be time for words later, there would be time for the rest of the world later. Right now she was exactly where she belonged.

**A/N. oh the angst! (rolls eyes at self). Well finally Tris/Lucy are together. Apologies for not much plot progression in this - I tried to incorporate it with the developments of the next chapter, but it's just too distracting. So as a "Happy Thursday" present you get smut instead. Thanks very much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - I was a bit worried that everyone hated it!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

**There is some rather tame smut in this chapter. As usual if you send me a PM then I'll send you an edited version of the chapter if smut isn't your thing.**

Guinevere lay awake for a long time. Arthur's bulk was heavy beside her, one big arm flung across her waist as though he was afraid that she would escape before he awakened. Watching the stars extinguished one by one, and the lightening of the sky from indigo to the pale light of dawn, Guinevere could stay still no longer, and gently extracting herself from her lover's embrace, she padded barefoot to the window, shivering slightly in the cold morning air. _Funny how things changed…. _A year ago she had been a thing of the wild - deadly and free. Oh yes, as Merlin's daughter she was well aware of her responsibilities, but she had fought side by side with the rest of the tribe, had remained defiant even when chained and tortured in Marius' dungeon. Now she wore silk, did her best to bridge the gap between her people and those she had been taught to hate, and gave her body willingly and joyously every night to a man who was the product of a regime she despised. Slipping a heavy woollen dress over her nightgown, she quickly laced her boots and walked noiselessly to the doorway. Arthur did not move, and touching his cheek with a feather light finger, Guinevere left him to sleep - Goddess knew he had snatched little of it lately, and with luck she would return before he awakened.

Slinking down the stairwell, she dodged the guards almost unconsciously. It had been too long since she had had a chance to use her hard won talents of stealth and cunning, and grinning to herself, she slid outside as swiftly and silently as a shadow. The stables were deserted - the stable boys and girls gossiping around the well as they drew water from their charges. A couple of horses nickered a lazy welcome, but after rubbing the soft nose of her bay mare, Guinevere paid them no mind. Tucked into a hollow in the rafters, she found what she sought. A bow and a quiver of arrows. It was not her only bow, and it certainly wasn't the nicest - Arthur had gifted her with an exquisitely carved long bow that she admired and practiced with now and again, but this was _her _bow. This was the bow that had saved her life on many occasions and ended many others. It was a part of her - the Guinevere who had roamed the forest deadly and merciless, and even though it could not be part of her new life, she was unwilling to throw it away.

Slinging the quiver over her shoulder, she left the stables and made her way towards the forest. While she knew that she should not be walking alone in such dangerous times, the desire to speak with her father outweighed her fear, and slipping through the shadows, she made her way to where he dwelt. Merlin was supposed to be living in a sturdy, spacious cottage situated near Hadrian's wall and close to the fort. Knowing her father better than anyone, Guinevere had helped him move in and then wordlessly helped him build a shelter in the woods. Old habits died hard, and Merlin would not be happy caged within stone walls.

Alert, yet buoyant at such hastily snatched freedom, Guinevere slipped through the trees. Idly she noted the changes wrought in a few short months. The smell of wild garlic was pungent and heavy in the morning air, swathes of sunlight illuminating the tender new leaves on the trees, the curled ferns poking through the dark soil. Summer was almost here, and it seemed strange that nature should be so unaware of the horrific events that had happened so close by. Even lost in her thoughts however, Guinevere was sharp enough to sense that she was being watched. Continuing on her way, she ducked behind a tree when the path narrowed, and had an arrow drawn and aimed at her pursuer's throat before they had time to realise that they had been noticed.

"Who are you?" Guinevere looked at the woman before her suspiciously, but did not lower her bow. "Why are you following me?"

The woman did not flinch from the arrow aimed at her neck, indeed if anything her face showed quiet amusement. Brushing her grey flecked hair back with an almost haughty grace, she studied the younger woman with sharp curiosity. "yes," she nodded with approval. "You are certainly your father's daughter."

Guinevere kept her arrow aimed at the middle aged woman's throat. "If you know my father then you know who I am, and should know better than to sneak up on me. I asked a question - who are you?"

"Peace child," the woman gave the younger girl a look of almost maternal pride. "It's been a while, but I thought that you might have recognised me. I'm Githa, I'm your aunt."

* * *

Lucy yawned and tensed her muscles in a half hearted attempt at a stretch. She was in that delicious place of semi-awakeness, where the world was still slightly dreamlike, but still very aware of the big body curled around her. _Tristan loved her._ Stifling a giggle, she bit her lip and carefully turned her head. Amused golden eyes met her gaze and she blushed.

"Sorry, did I wake you?"

He didn't say anything, merely rolled her on top of him and kissed her thoroughly, skimming his hands down her sides. Breaking away, Lucy pushed herself up into a sitting position and smiled through the hopeless tangle of her pale hair. She had never thought that Tristan could look like this: relaxed, sated, his eyes almost lazy, his hands gentle on her skin. Eying the blanket that was now sliding off the bed, she wondered if she should cover herself up. Being naked wasn't something she was familiar with, and she felt a little awkward. As though sensing her thoughts, Tristan pulled her down onto his chest, kissing her forehead and running leisurely hand down her back. She could feel his manhood swelling between her thighs, the rasp of his stubble against her cheek and felt an almost giddy rush of euphoria. He wanted her, he loved her. For once Lucy the serving girl, Lucy the nobody, had been granted every wish that she had dared not voice. Returning his kiss eagerly, they both jumped at the sudden rap on the door. With a muttered curse, Tristan threw the blanket over Lucy and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"What?"

Lancelot poked his head around the door and looked at his fellow knight with amusement and absolutely no embarrassment.

"Arthur wants us. It seems that Merlin's sister has turned up and wants to talk. She might have information on whatever it is that's been happening." At Tristan's non-committal grunt, he winked at the rather dishevelled girl trying to make herself inconspicuous amongst the blankets. "Good morning Lucy." Laughing at Tristan's growl, Lancelot shut the door behind him and made his way to the round table.

* * *

Arthur wasn't quite sure what to think. He had awakened alone, something that he wished never to experience again. He was well aware that Guinevere was not a woman to be caged or locked away to do embroidery or painting, or whatever it was that royal ladies did to pass the time, but surely a little caution was not too much to ask? He had already failed to protect his subjects - how was he supposed to keep Guinevere safe when she flitted into the forest whenever the fancy took her? She had returned with her father and a middle aged slightly ragged looking woman with sharp blue eyes captured in a web of weather worn wrinkles and a way of making him feel uncomfortable in his own home. _Githa_.

The aforesaid woman watched his knights settle themselves around the round table quietly, looking to him for guidance when everyone was seated. With a sigh, Arthur got to his feet, nodding at the knights and Merlin, and gesturing for Githa to stand.

"Knights, this is Githa. Sister of Merlin and aunt to Guinevere. She has travelled a long way to tell her tale, so I bid you listen carefully." Nodding at the woman, he sat down, avoiding both Guinevere and Merlin's eyes as he did so.

The woman stood and swept her eyes over her audience. Although not particularly tall, she had a presence about her that was undeniable, and Galahad opening his mouth to make a quip hastily shut it again when her cool blue eyes met his.

"I understand that you have seen what happened to my son and daughter in law." The words were calm and held no trace of self-pity, but for a moment her frozen composure seemed to falter a little. "My son was a good boy." She glared at the knights as though daring them to disagree. "Wulfhere was a pawn to his father, as was his wife. The man you saw was not my son - my son was lost a long time ago."

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked quietly. "Wulfhere was shot by whoever it was that has been terrorising my people."

"Wulfhere was killed by Hengist, the man that I was fool enough to marry. Ida, Wulfhere's wife came to you for help - she came to warn you."

"Warn us?" Arthur's brow furrowed as he took in that information. "Why didn't she come straight to me? I would have at least listened to her."

"Hengist got to Wulfhere first." Githa dropped her eyes. "I don't know how to explain properly, sometimes it seems like a bad dream, but I should start at the beginning." Glancing at Arthur, she took a deep swallow of wine from the goblet before her, and with a shaky breath began her story.

"After my husband was killed, Wulfhere and I were alone for several years. One day I met Hengist - he was a noted warrior and seemed to be a good man. We married quickly and moved to Ireland. He had family there and I was eager for a fresh start - as much for Wulfhere as for myself. Hengist treated Wulfhere as his own, however he made no secret of his desire for a child of his blood, and I wanted the same thing. My daughter, Tara, was born after a year had passed, and for eight years we were happy. Hengist's sister Brigid visited often, and while some of the things that she said and did seemed strange, I did not think much of it. She belonged to a sect of Druidesses' with strict orders and little contact with other people. She was nice enough to me, and increasingly close to her brother, but when Tara died everything changed." Githa took another swallow of wine, but kept her eyes fixed on the table before her. "She was only sick two days - one moment she was full of life, the next we were burying her. Hengist took it hard…" fidgeting, she glanced at Merlin. "He changed, became almost obsessed with his sister's sect. They aren't…" she paused, hunting for the right word. "They aren't normal. Ida and I joined them for a time." Pulling up her sleeve, she showed the knights the tattooed bird etched on her forearm. "They call themselves the Ingheaw Andagha - the Daughters of Fire. Brigid leads them, but the path they have taken isn't natural, the forces they conjure aren't natural. Wulfhere came home one night and it was as though the light had gone from his eyes. He looked like my son, he walked , he talked, but it was though everything that made him, _him,_ was lost. He and Hengist spent all their time at Kildare castle with Bridgid and her followers after that. Even then Ida and I stood by them: they were our husbands after all."

"What happened?" Guinevere asked quietly. "What made you leave him?"

Githa looked at the young woman sadly. "Brigid and her Druidesses are powerful, but power comes at a price. Wulfhere gave them his daughter."

"Gave them his daughter?" Bors looked at the woman as though he couldn't quite believe what he had heard. "You don't mean…."

"Blood of the innocent spilt at the solstice," Githa said dully. "Wulfhere took her away and came back without her. Ida screamed at him, tried to kill him - he just looked at her, I don't think he even knew what he'd done."

"All this happened in Ireland," Merlin said quietly, reaching out to cover his sister's hand with his own calloused fingers. "Why is Hengist here now, what does he want?"

Githa looked at Guinevere and lowered her eyes. "You've met Brigid, brother of mine. Two dozen years ago you took her into your bed but did not share your secrets. She has neither forgotten nor forgiven you for that. As her power has grown so has her ambition. She seeks to destroy the alliance forged here, and in the aftermath recruit those of our kind who have grown disillusioned with Rome."

"And Hengist?" Arthur's voice was tight as he absorbed this new information. "What hold does this woman have on him?"

Closing her eyes briefly, Githa squared her shoulders and spoke calmly. "Brigid has promised him his daughter back. A life for a life. She has power - she's already harnessed the spirit world, I don't know how to stop her."

"You said a life for a life," Merlin said slowly. "Who's life is he to take?"

Githa gave a bitter smile. "Haven't you guessed yet brother? He's come for your daughter - he's come for Guinevere."

**A/N Hmm kind of an exposition heavy chapter I'm afraid (oh and for anyone wondering about the necklace, there will be more about that soon). Thanks very much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, good or bad I always appreciate your comments - please feed the author lol.**

**Geek Note:**

**I have taken lots and lots of liberties regarding Irish history and Druids - the sacrifce thing is a plot device and not historically accurate. All the Druids that I have met have been very lovely gentle people (although sadly lacking in cool magical powers lol)**

**The Ingheaw Andagha (Daughters of Fire) were actually real. They were based at Kildare in Ireland, the retreat of St. Bridgid and her nuns, who were in charge of the sacred fire. Before them was a community of Irish Druidesses, virgins, who were feared and respected. There are stories of them raising storms, causing diseases or striking down their enemies. Most of it is probably very exaggerated, but I've pinched bits of the legend for my story - I hope they don't mind lol!**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: nothing that you recognise belongs to me.**

"He's come for Guinevere?" Arthur bit the words out from between clenched teeth. "You dare walk in here knowing that.."

"Arthur!" Merlin stood up swiftly and grasped the larger mans arm. "Githa is not a threat, she is trying to help." For a moment neither backed down, green eyes battled grey, and more than one knight unconsciously reached for his blade.

"Enough." Guinevere might be slender but she was strong, and her fingers digging into the tender skin of his wrist brought Arthur's attention back to the men waiting for his command.

"Enough." The woad woman let go of Arthur's wrist and glanced at her father. "We can't fight what we do not understand. Githa has spoken, we should listen to her."

After a moment both Arthur an Merlin sat back down, but the new king's broad shoulders were tensed and he did not let go of Guinevere's arm.

"You could have stopped this." Merlin looked as though he too would like to reach for the young woman, but acknowledging both her wishes and Arthur's claim upon her, he merely clenched his hands in his lap. "As much Woad as Roman blood has been spilt here, where do your loyalties lie sister of mine?"

Githa looked at him and gave a faint smile. For a moment Merlin caught a glimpse of the little sister he had played with and tried to protect as a child. The illusion was fleeting, a cracked portrait of forgotten times, and with a feeling of unease he realised just how little he knew of the woman that girl had become.

"My loyalties?" Githa swept her eyes around the people seated at the table thoughtfully. "Not with you, brother. Not with your Roman master or the Woad hordes that wait for your command." She watched Tristan and Lancelots' hands tighten on their sword hilts, but did not flinch. " I have lost too much to care anything for the old faith or loyalty I once held dear, but I too had a daughter once." She met Guinevere's glance, and despite her composure the younger woman dropped her eyes first. "Enough blood has been shed already, I will help to put a stop to it if I can."

"And do you know of a way to do that?" Arthur asked quietly. "Brigid offered your husband the life of your child. Can you really say that you are not tempted by that offer?"

Githa slammed her palm down on the table, rattling the goblet of wine before her, and glared at Arthur.

"Not tempted? I would give my life willingly if I thought that it could bring her back. I'm not stupid but I am human, of course I was tempted."

"But you are here," Merlin said quietly. "You came to us and not Hengist."

"Hengist believes what he wants to believe." Bringing her goblet to her lips, Githa took several large swallows of wine. "My daughter is dead, I loved her and I mourned her, and I will not sully her memory by clinging to a ghost raised from dark magic and bloodshed."

"She has broken the seal to the spirit world?" It was meant as a question, but Merlin's face darkened as he realised the extent of Brigid's magic.

"You know that she has, you must have felt it." Githa shrugged before swallowing the last of her wine. "She has spirits tied to her will, power that even she doesn't understand. I had hoped that she would be reckless enough to bring about her own downfall, but it seems that she is too clever for that. You, brother, have let your daughter marry a Roman - a _Christian_ Roman. You have helped bring about an alliance between the Picts and those who invaded our lands, killed our people and sought to eradicate our beliefs. Brigid hated you for your dismissal of her, but she will kill for what she believes in just as you used to do."

"By killing Guinevere."

"By destroying what you love," Githa corrected. "Men…" she shook her head sadly. "None of you have the sense that you were born with. This isn't about you, it isn't about him," she nodded towards Arthur. "She thinks that she's fighting for her beliefs, and perhaps she is - convert or die; that's the choice. She's lost sisters to Rome and it's beliefs. Destroy Rome's hold on these lands and they will be free to worship who and what they want . I might not agree with their methods, but you can see their point."

"They kill children," Guinevere snarled. "Whatever she has suffered, she has no right to slaughter the innocent. A boy died as what? An excuse for people to mistrust the knights and question Arthur? Most of the people who have died here aren't even Roman!"

"Exactly." Githa gave a rueful smile. "And how many of our people would believe that one of their own was killing their own people?"

"None." The knights had remained silent up until now, but Lancelot finally spoke out. "All this is interesting, but surely there is only one thing that we need to know - where is this Brigid?"

"I don't know." Githa ran a hand through her snarled hair absentmindedly. " Ida was following her, she thought that she could stop her, but I didn't get a chance to speak to her before she was killed."

"Did she say anything about this?" Merlin hunted around in his pocket and placed the gold torque that had been found with Ida , upon the table.

Githa gave a half laugh and looked at her brother incredulously. "Where did you find this?" Stretching out her hand, she traced the sinuous lines of the necklace with none of the hesitation her brother or niece had shown toward the trinket

"You know what it is?" Guinevere asked.

"I might be old but I'm not stupid," the grey haired woman said with amusement. A faint smile lit her face and made her seem younger than her years, and when she picked up the torque her eyes were as bright as a child's. "The Iodhan Moran. There may be hope for us yet."

* * *

"It's not quite right is it?" Lucy wrinkled her nose at the congealed mass of burning eggs and looked at Kyrie hopefully. "Do you think the knights'll notice?"

"They might," Kyrie said tactfully. "Usually the eggs aren't quite as…. Well cooked."

"You mean burnt." Scraping the blackened mess into the slops bucket, Lucy shoved the pan towards her friend. "I don't understand. Vanora makes it look so easy. Crack the eggs, in they go, lovely breakfast. Not smoke and burning and stuff that the pigs'll probably turn their noses up at."

"Vanora's had a lot of practice." Smearing a dollop of butter onto the pan, Kyrie cracked half a dozen eggs and skilfully poked the embers beneath it. "You just need to get used to cooking ."

"That's what Vanora said before she banned me from the kitchens," Lucy muttered. Reaching for a plate, she started buttering the bread that Kyrie had sliced with deceptive ease. Glancing towards the dark haired girl, she paused and took a second look. "You look nice. You should wear your hair down more often, it's too pretty to be kept tied up."

Kyrie blushed and shoved a lock of hair back over her shoulder. "Most of the time it's too dirty to be loose, besides it gets in the way."

"It's clean now." Lucy noted the blush and wondered what her friend was hiding. "Did you bathe in the river this morning?"

"No. I er.. " Kyrie concentrated very hard on flipping over the frying eggs. "Galahad took me to the baths."

Lucy gave an undignified squeak and a small bounce, almost knocking over the pile of newly buttered bread. Noting the blond girl's enthusiasm, Kyrie hastened to correct herself.

"I mean alone. I wasn't naked, well not with him. Not at that time, we just slept together. I mean in the same room, not the same bed."

"Of course you did." Lucy's voice was solemn but her eyes were alight with mischief. "It's not like you two have been making calf eyes at each other or anything like that."

"I didn't.. he didn't.." realising that the eggs were burning, Kyrie quickly shoved the pan away from the fire. "Anyway," she said indignantly, "from what I've heard, you weren't alone last night either."

This time it was Lucy who blushed. Pouring water into the large kettle and hanging it above the fire, she did her best to appear nonchalant. "I was with Tristan."

Kyrie smiled and concentrated on the food that she was preparing. Sweet and impulsive Lucy might be, but a decent actress she was not. "And how was you mysterious scout?"

Lucy paused and thought about the question. _Beautiful, dangerous, heartbreaking? _"Sleepy," she said finally. After all it wasn't exactly a lie - they both had fallen asleep eventually after all.

"Sleepy." Kyrie nodded solemnly and suppressed a grin. Lucy's flushed cheeks and bright eyes told all the stories that her friend would not tell, and just because Lucy wasn't ready to talk, it didn't mean that she couldn't feel a little smug at having predicted the connection between the bright eyed girl and the reticent scout. "Well then, we both had a decent night's sleep for once."

"I suppose that we did." Neither of the girls looked at each other, but had they asked one of the mice crouched behind the grain sacks, both had the same satisfied grin as they busied themselves making breakfast.

**A/N: Hmm, this fic has a mind of its own… Sorry that it's a short chapter, more soon I promise. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, I hope that I replied to you all. Oh and happy April fools day everyone!**


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: nothing that you recognise belongs to me.**

**There is some smut in this chappy, but nothing too graphic really. Usual rules apply - email/message me if you want a pg version of the chapter.**

Kyrie huffed ineffectually at a stray strand of hair tickling her nose as she carefully ascended the stairs to Galahad's chamber. The tray that she held was dented from years of use, and the plate of eggs and bread slid against the jug of water that sat atop it, threatening to tip the whole lot onto the floor. Ignoring several lascivious comments and a mischievous soldier who attempted to pinch a piece of toast from her, Kyrie, having no free hands, was forced to kick the young knight's door with her foot in order to announce her presence.

"What is…?" Galahad opened the door shirtless, his dark curls in disarray, and his eyes flashing irritably. Upon realising the identity of his visitor, he softened somewhat and held the door open for the dark haired girl to enter. "I'm sorry, I thought that you were Bors."

"Indeed." Kyrie's mouth twitched in a smile as she set the tray down upon the table beside the bed. "It is a mistake that is often made."

"I'm sure." Galahad gave her a lazy grin. "At least you don't snore as badly as he does."

Kyrie paused, setting the jug of water aside carefully and wiping up the few spilled drops with a care that was more to give her a moments breathing space than worry for the old furniture. "I shall take your word for it," she said eventually. At the back of her mind she wondered if he thought that she had bedded Bors, or any of his fellow knights for that matter. Such casual joking was unfamiliar to her, and unknown when it came to men. Her fears seemed to prove groundless when she glanced back at Galahad.

"You don't need to - just ask Vanora." Giving a wide and completely unselfconscious yawn, Galahad looked at the breakfast Kyrie had brought. "Who cooked the eggs, was it Lucy…?" his voice trailed off, and the young girl laughed at the worried expression on his face.

"What's wrong with Lucy's cooking?" she said with mock innocence. "I've rarely seen such enthusiasm in the kitchens."

Galahad "humphed" and eyed the proffered food with mistrust. "Enthusiasm. That's a new one. Arthur thinks we should have sent her over to the Saxons; a couple of bowls of her beef stew and she'd have wiped out half their army."

"That's unkind." Kyrie shook her head in mock rebuke, although she couldn't help but silently agree. Lucy had many fine qualities, but she was a positive menace in the kitchen.

"Hah." Galahad narrowed his eyes and looked almost smug. "I saw that."

"Saw what?"

"That smile." He grinned with satisfaction when Kyrie blushed. "Admit it, you wouldn't eat anything that Lucy had cooked."

"Lucy's way of cooking is just…. Well, she can…" Kyrie narrowed her eyes at the dark haired knight. "She's clever and brave, and.."

"Tristan's." Galahad finished for her. "I meant no disrespect to Lucy - I'm fond of her myself, and the Gods know that not many people would have the patience to put up with Tris."

Kyrie did her best to ignore the little twist of jealousy at his words. She loved the blonde haired girl who had saved her life, and if Galahad cared for her too then why should she be annoyed? Sneaking a look behind her, she watched as the young knight hunted for his greaves. The supple skin of his chest and shoulders was marked with several slender scars, his broad chest furred with dark hair that trailed down to his breeches. Swallowing, she dragged her eyes away and met Galahad's gaze.

It was obvious that he had seen what she had been doing; his eyes were dark, his posture tense. However he made no attempt to go to her, and instead turned his head, focussing his attention on the leather gauntlets in his hands. Kyrie stood very still. The air was suddenly very heavy, each breath she took a harsh pull and drag in her chest. The door was two steps away, three at most. She looked at it for a moment: the worn iron hinges, the dent on the bottom that looked like it had been made by someone's boot. Half her mind screamed at her to run, but she did not.

"You are going to hunt the thing that killed the guards, that has been killing the Woads." Her voice was quiet and sounded a little strange to her own ears, but he gaze didn't falter when it met Galahad's eyes.

"Yes." Galahad's voice was rough, and when she took a step forwards, he picked up her hand and traced the soft skin of her inner wrist with calloused fingers. His eyes were wary and almost pleading when he looked up at her. "Why?"

"I… don't want you to get hurt." Reaching out, Kyrie placed a hand over his. "I want you to be safe."

Galahad gave a short bitter laugh. " I do what I am commanded to do, Kyrie - and I've done little of use lately."

"That's not true." She let him untangle her fingers from his, but did not step away. "You helped me."

"That was no hardship, Kyrie," he replied honestly. "Of all that has happened, meeting you has been the one thing that has kept me sane."

"Then let me help you too." Her words were soft, but their meaning was clear.

"Kyrie.. I've already told you that you owe me nothing." Galahad forced away the urge to shove one of the blankets tangled at the end of the bed into his lap. Despite the calmness of his words, his body's reaction to the pretty girl's suggestion was anything but dispassionate, and he looked away, willing the blood to cool in his veins.

"No you didn't." Taking a step forward, Kyrie watched the flush upon the young knight's cheeks, the ill concealed evidence of his arousal, and felt her heart quicken. _She_ had done this, _she_ was the cause of the tension in the muscles that tightened beneath the smooth skin of his powerful shoulders, _she_ was wanted, desired by the handsome, brave man before her, and she thrilled at the sudden power that shivered through her body. If she left then he would not stop her, not lay a finger upon her - but it was suddenly the last thing in the world that she wanted. "You told me that I didn't have to give myself to you."

"It's the same thing." Galahad could not meet her eyes. In the dimly lit chamber he could smell the kitchen smoke upon her ill-fitting clothes, see the faint gleam of her eyes beneath her lowered lashes. She was no longer the frightend, cornered animal of the previous night, and it was with difficulty that he stopped himself from getting up, pushing her down onto the bed and kissing her senseless.

"It's not," she whispered. "I owe you a lot, but that isn't why I want you, that isn't why I would give myself to you. My body is mine to give to whom I choose now." Without any fuss she pulled her dress and undershift over her head, and looked at him with a hesitant attempt at bravado. Pale and slender she watched him wide eyed and took several steps forward. She did not reach the bed. With a groan, Galahad stood and crossed the short distance between them. Crushing her to him, he kissed her, revelling at the way she wrapped herself around him, the silky slide of her skin beneath his hands. He took his time - explored the ridges of her ribs, the indents of her collar bones, the curves of her breasts, the soft secret places that had her gasping his name. When she finally cried out, eyes fluttered closed, her body shaking, he took her. Buried himself deep and felt her wind herself around him, her fingers clutching him tightly as though she could bring them closer together by sheer force of will.

There was not much time for sweet slumber or languid caresses after their lovemaking. Both of them knew that Galahad had his duties, and they had tarried long enough for questions to be asked and someone to seek them out if they did not leave the chamber. Washing swiftly in the bowl of cold water that Kyrie had brought, Galahad shook his head and gently pushed her back down when she made to rise from the tangle of blankets upon his bed.

"Stay there." He smiled as she blinked at him sleepily, dark hair tangled over her face and shoulders. "Sleep, there is no reason for you to leave."

Kyrie bit her lower lip, still swollen from his kisses, and snuggled back down into the warm indent that Galahad's body had left in the straw mattress. Watching as he dressed himself, she felt no need to cover her half naked body, no shame in watching him watch her. There was none of the familiar pain and regret that had forced her stumbling from her clients' chambers with bruises on her skin and a bitter taste in her mouth. She smiled as the young knight brushed her hair from her face, made him promise to be careful, and kissed him back when he brushed her lips with his own. At the back of her mind she felt a vague pang of guilt at abandoning Lucy and Vanora to the morning chores, but burying her head into the still warm pillow, she couldn't bring herself to get up before sleep, sweet and comforting, washed over her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: I'm really sorry dear readers. A short chapter, no Tristan/Lucy, not much plot progress - runs off to hide behind the sofa. So much for a little Tristan/Oc fic huh? I'm eating the chocolate rabbit that my brother gave me for Easter at the moment in an attempt to ward off any more plot bunnies (and because I'm greedy). Thanks to all the reviewing people that have been kind enough to leave feedback - I hope that everyone had a nice Easter!**


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: nothing that you recognise belongs to me.**

Guinevere wrapped her arms around herself and shivered slightly as the cool breeze tugged at her hair and chilled her skin. Even tucked away on the battlements she was aware of the guards nearby, and felt a prickle of irritation. This was _her _place. A spot that she had chosen as a sanctuary whenever she wanted to be alone, or merely wished to watch the surrounding countryside and remember her former life. The guards were necessary, she acknowledged, as much for Arthur's peace of mind as her safety, but the thought that she was now deemed a weak woman in need of protection still rankled.

"May I sit down?" The voice behind her made Guinevere jump, and looking around she saw Githa, one eyebrow raised questioningly, her greying hair rippling in the breeze.

"You may." Pretending to study the forest, Guinevere watched from the corner of her eye as her aunt settled herself down with a sigh.

"I am not as young as I used to be," the Woad woman said ruefully. "I prefer softer resting places these days."

"Then you are welcome to go and seek them out," Guinevere said with unaccustomed sharpness. Githa made her nervous, and as far as she could see, was partly to blame for Hengist's crimes. The older woman seemed to sense her thoughts and smiled sadly.

"I do not blame you for being angry child. With all my heart I wish that I could have stopped this."

"I'm not a child," Guinevere bit out. "And you could have stopped this if you had wanted to. Your husband, your son have killed innocents - a child for the goddess's sake! Why didn't you do something?"

Githa was silent for a long moment, and when she finally spoke her words were soft and heavy with pain. "I was the same age as you when I married my first husband. His name was Darrow and oh I loved him." She smiled wistfully, "he had eyes the colour of the sky and a smile that could turn snow to sunshine. The Romans slaughtered him two weeks after I gave birth to our son. I have never known such pain, such complete and total loneliness. Were it not for Wulfhere I would have joined Darrow in the afterlife. I thought that I would never love again."

"Then you met Hengist," Guinevere said quietly.

"I did, yes." Githa turned to her niece. "Understand, the man that is out there, the man that threatens you and yours is not the man that I married. Hengist was kind, funny, he gave me hope and my son a father. We had many happy years together - years that even his actions now cannot erase. Our daughter's death broke him and Brigid picked up the pieces of his soul and made him into something else. You blame me for what has happened," she met Guinevere's eyes fearlessly. "But understand I loved him, I loved my son. Brigid is far more powerful than me - the only way that I could have stopped them is to have killed them, and I…" She shook her head, blinking away tears. "It matters not now, they are both lost."

"I'm sorry," Guinevere said honestly. "You came here, you've told us what you know, that's something, I won't forget it."

Githa gave a faint smile. "Too little too late, I fear."

"My father," Guinevere said tentatively, "you said that this Brigid and he…" her voice trailed off as she tried to think of a way to phrase the question. Githa saved her the trouble.

"They were lovers for a time. Merlin was shattered by your mother's death - he did not look at another woman for many years after she died, but Brigid was young, she was beautiful and fascinated by magic. I suppose that he was flattered. It was only later when he learnt her true nature that he severed all ties with her."

"Her true nature?"

Githa shifted uncomfortably on the cold stone. "You know the rules of magic as well as I Guinevere. You know to respect it's power, not to upset the balance of things. Brigid cares nothing for the rules, nothing for restraint. When Merlin refused to teach her further she turned to those who would, those who did not shy away from the dark arts."

"The Daughters of Fire?" Guinevere asked. "You said that she leads them."

"That she does, but she worked her way up to her position over many years. Ida and I were part of the coven for a time before we realised what they were willing to do for their beliefs. I saw things…" she closed her eyes and sighed.

"And they just let you leave?" Guinevere tucked her knees under her chin. "They didn't try and stop you?"

Githa gave a bitter laugh. "No, they wished us well and we were grateful for that fact. It was too easy - we should have been more suspicious. My daughter was dead within the month; my daughter who had never been sick a day in her life, and Hengist became a far more devout follower to them than I had ever been."

"They killed your daughter?" shocked, Guinevere turned to her aunt. "Didn't you tell him what you suspected."

"From the first time he went to them Hengist, _my _Hengist was lost. He no longer heard a word that I said, almost as though he were a puppet waiting for its strings to be pulled. I waited for him to change, to return, but things only got worse."

For a moment both women were silent.

"We have to stop them," Guinevere said eventually, "we have to find a way."

Githa gave a laugh and held up a hand when her niece looked at her in confusion. "I'm sorry, it's just that you remind me so very much of your mother - she was too brave for her own good too." Sobering, she reached into her pocket and brought out the silver torque that Ida had tried to give Merlin. "The Iodhan Moran." Placing it in Guinevere's hand, she smiled. "The silver was mined from Wicklow and blessed by the Fomorian druids there; sun worshippers of great power. Brigid's magic is rooted in darkness, place this around her neck and the different magics will cancel each other out."

"So she'll have no power?" Guinevere looked at Githa who nodded.

"In theory anyway."

"So you aren't entirely sure?"

Githa sighed. "I only know what I've read and been told. There has never been an occasion before where it has needed to be tested."

With a rueful laugh, Guinevere ran her fingers over the twisted metal. "Well then, for all our sakes I hope that you are right."

* * *

Lucy sat crossed legged on Tristan's bed watching him dress. She had brought him his breakfast and shared it with him, snuggled in his lap. He hadn't said much, but he seemed content to listen to her prattle away about the comings and goings at the tavern and her suspicions regarding Kyrie and Galahad. Running a finger over her bottom lip still swollen from his kisses, she caught his eye and blushed as he gave a knowing smirk.

"I don't know why you look so pleased with yourself," she muttered with mock indignation. "You look even more untidy than I do."

Tristan gave a yawn and walked over to her, running his fingers through her thick hair and pushing it behind her shoulders. "Unlike Lancelot, I have better things to do than spend my time preening in front of a mirror."

Wrinkling her nose, Lucy laughed. "Like skulking around the forest you mean?"

"Really, Lucy, do you really think me that lacking in imagination?" She caught the wicked flash in his eyes and swallowed hard. After last night that was one thing that she certainly could not accuse him of.

Noting the way her cheeks coloured and guessing the cause, he smiled and kissed her leisurely, revelling in the way she opened to him, sweet and unafraid. Reluctantly pulling away, he half picked her up and set her down on the ground.

"Arthur is waiting," he said buckling his breastplate and reaching for his sword. "I have to go."

Lucy nodded, stretching and moving towards the door with a last longing glance back at the bed. "I should probably get back to the tavern too, Vanora will…"

"Lucy!" Tristan said in exasperation, grabbing her arm as she made to walk out the door. "How many times to I have to tell you not to wander around alone? I will walk you to the tavern and you will give me your word that you will not leave it without an escort."

Lucy pulled away a little defiantly. The knowledge that he was worried about her sent little butterflies of happiness flickering in her stomach, but she wouldn't stand for being ordered around like a child.

"I am quite capable of taking care of myself, thank-you very much," she said crossly. "I faced the ghost monster twice incase you've forgotten."

"You ran away," Tristan pointed out dryly.

"Yes… but…" Lucy struggled to think of a suitable retort. "If I had had a sword and knew how to fight then I wouldn't have done."

Blinking at that particular piece of logic, Tristan took Lucy's arm and ushered her out the room, kicking the door shut behind him. He had no intention of stifling Lucy's independence, but there was no way on earth that he was going let anything happen to her either. The tavern was quiet, several of Vanora's children playing a game of tag the liveliest things in the large courtyard. As Lucy made to walk away with a smile, Tristan pulled her back into a dark corner and kissed her thoroughly. Pinning her gently against the wooden wall, he looked at her seriously.

"Remember what I said. No running off on your own." Lucy smiled and pretended to think about it.

"Alright, but only if you promise to be careful. I like you much better when you're not injured." Biting her lower lip provocatively she shivered at the way his eyes darkened.

"Wench," he muttered giving her a swift kiss. "When we are married I'll have to keep my eyes on you." Letting her go, he turned away and strode out the tavern to where the rest of the knights were waiting, leaving Lucy blinking in surprise.

**A/N Hmm only about four chapters left I think - the end is in sight hooray! Thanks very much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter.**


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: nothing that you recognise belongs to me.**

Kyrie glanced over at Lucy and bit her lip to keep from smiling too obviously. The blonde girl was doing her best to pay attention to the customers in the tavern, but it was obvious that her mind was not on the job, and given her untidy hair and the haphazard lacing of her dress, Kyrie had a fair idea why.

Not that she could judge, she thought ruefully. Several patrons had had ale slopped over them when she hadn't been looking where she was going, and while her cooking wasn't yet as life threatening as Lucy's, it was certainly not up to her usual standard. Meeting the other girl's eyes, they both smiled knowingly at each other. There would be time later to gossip and giggle, but for the moment it was enough just to be understood - to be hold secrets that held joy rather than sorrow.

"Van!" Bors's voice bellowed through the tavern, and his lover slammed down the ale jug that she had been filling. She had been run off her feet that afternoon, both the usually dependable Kyrie and Lucy distracted and careless. She didn't really mind - indeed guessed the cause of their inattention and wished them well, but it did make her own job a lot more difficult.

"Sirs." With a slightly sarcastic smile, she carried over a fresh pitcher to the knights' table, and was only slightly mollified when Bors pulled her onto his lap and hugged her to him.

"Get off me, you big brute," she said with an attempt at outrage. "Some of us have work to do."

Bors gave a hearty chuckle and kissed her on the cheek. "Such a beautiful woman must earn a rest every now and again. Let Lucy and Kyrie take over."

"Lucy and Kyrie are distracted," Vanora said dryly, giving Tristan and Galahad a knowing look. "And if I'm not there to keep an eye on them, then the whole tavern will end up poisoned by Lucy's stew."

"Lucy's cooking?" Arthur glanced at the tavern owner with a slightly perturbed expression upon his face. "Are you sure that's wise?"

"It's not wise it's prudent," Vanora said, sliding off Bors's lap. "A little bout of sickness and a couple of days in bed alone," she looked pointedly at the scout and the youngest knight, " might give everyone a chance to regain their wits." Tossing her red hair back she kissed Bors thoroughly and winked at the knights. "If I were you then I'd prepare for another couple of weddings in the near future," she said to Arthur. "Either that or you are going to have to look for new girls for me to recruit to the tavern."

The king laughed. He had known Vanora since they were both teenagers, and she was one of the only people who took no notice of his titles and privileges. She had been the first girl that he had kissed, and while his heart belonged to Guinevere, it was nice that the fiery red-head remained a close friend and as feisty as ever.

"You actively encourage the poisoning of my knights?" Arthur shook his head in mock rebuke, but his words were amused; he had seen the difference in Galahad and Tristan and inwardly rejoiced at their happiness. "If you were a man then I'd have you strung up for such disloyalty."

Vanora was familiar with this game and looked at the big Roman with innocent eyes. "Were I a man Arthur, you would have defeated the Saxons an awful lot quicker." With a wink she headed off to the kitchen muttering about fragile Samartians in a way that, had the words been uttered by anyone else, would have resulted in bloodshed.

Kyrie watched the exchange of words between her boss and the King with reluctant admiration.

"She really knows no fear, does she?" she muttered to Lucy.

"Hmm," the blonde girl muttered non-committedly. She had sat with Vanora too many times when Bors was away and the red-haired woman wound tight with worry ,to be completely convinced by her act, but she had never tried to talk to her about it. When your lover fought for Rome and left you at the whim of men who had never even set foot in the country, then you dealt with it as best you could, she reasoned. Glancing at the back of Tristan's shaggy head, she inwardly acknowledged that she herself had chosen the same fate, even as her heart soared at the mere sight of him. Sighing, she hefted the large bucket of dirty water from the sideboard and kicked the back door open without spilling too much on the floor. "I'll be back in a minute," she called to Kyrie, who, attempting to salvage the somewhat burnt beef stew, nodded but did not look up.

Tipping the water onto the grass behind the tavern, Lucy watched as it split into rivulets before disappearing into the ground. The air was cool, the sky darkening as the sun slid behind the hills, and for a brief moment she just stood and watched the forest, enjoying the tranquillity. The past few days had been beyond confusing, and while she was careful to keep an eye out for trouble and stay close to the tavern, it was nice to have a moment to gather her thoughts. _When we are married,_ Tristan had said, and he of all people was not one to let words slip without meaning them. Indulging herself, she imagined a house full of laughing children with golden eyes, a man who would hold her tightly at night even when her hair was as grey as his. It seemed strange to feel so happy, so complete, given the circumstances, and swinging the bucket beside her, she vowed to speak to Llynya as soon as she had a chance. Kyrie was sweet, but far too preoccupied to give advice at the moment, and the older woman always listened and spoke fairly, even though she might have to endure an _I told you so,_ Lucy thought ruefully. The brief flash of movement at the corner of her eye almost went unnoticed, but far more alert than she usually was, Lucy caught it and ducked out of sight without thinking.

It took a moment to recognise the figure that was slinking towards the forest; the figure moved with the shadows, but once identified she was impossible to miss. _Guinevere._ Lucy dropped the bucket, her heart pounding. Upon the Woad princess's back was the unmistakable shape of an a bow and quiver. Guinevere was going hunting, and this time her prey was far more dangerous than deer, she realised. For a moment she hesitated - go back to the tavern and warn Arthur or try and stop the future queen? Guinevere was almost out of sight, and she knew that there would be no finding her if she did not want to be found. If she could only talk to her or at least make enough noise to ruin any of her attempts at stealth , then perhaps she could make her reconsider. Picking up her skirts, Lucy raced down the meadow, her hair flying, her feet stumbling and skidding over the uneven ground. Guinevere was fast, but she showed far more care than her pursuer, and it did not take long for Lucy to catch her up.

"Guinevere? Lady?" Lucy slid to a halt at the head of the main path, her heartbeat thundering in her ears, her breath ragged. Looking around desperately, she saw no sign of the queen and inwardly despaired. Guinevere was a Woad who had years of experience in the woodland, she was a village girl who was capable of getting lost in their tiny village. She had no idea where to start looking, or even if she should do so at all. Backing up, she jumped in fright when a voice spoke behind her.

"What are you looking for, Lucy?" Guinevere slid from the trees with a grace that was almost ghostlike, however her eyes flashed with irritation. "You shouldn't be out here alone."

"Neither should you." Lucy spoke without thinking, fear and relief overcoming any attempt at propriety.

The young Woad gave a half laugh and appraised the other girl , before pointing back towards Hadrains Wall. "Go home, this is not your fight. This has nothing to do with you."

"On the contrary," Lucy narrowed her eyes, "I've seen the ghost… things… I've seen you. I won't let you hunt them alone. Swords don't work, arrows don't work - I won't let you kill yourself for no reason. Please my lady, go back to Arthur, he'll know what to do."

"Arthur." Guinevere's expression softened, but she looked warily at the forest ahead and made no move to go back home. "This is not Arthur's fight, he does not know what he faces. If my father will not face Brigid then I will."

"You love Arthur, don't you?" Lucy said quietly. "Do you really think that he would want you to risk your life for him?"

Guinevere gave a bitter laugh, her beautiful face suddenly seeming far older than her years. "I have fought for less, I have seen others die for less. I love Arthur, but he is a warrior as am I. We fight and we do not live in fear. Go home Lucy, this is not your fight."

"I.." Lucy made another attempt to plead her case, but faltered at Guinevere's expression. The Woad woman's dark eyes were wide, her expression almost curious. Turning slowly, she looked down at the arrow embedded in her back, just above her hipbone, with detached surprise. There had been no sign of the enemy, no twang of a bow string, and Lucy found herself unable to do anything but blink in disbelief at the scene before her.

"Run." Guinevere's voice was calm, but her face twisted as the pain registered. Shoving the girl in front of her forward, she choked out the order once again. "Get out of here Lucy!"

"I…" Panicking, Lucy stumbled a couple of steps before reaching out to the wounded girl. "Not without you, come on… we can…" Her voice was abruptly cut off as something slammed into her shoulder, sending her tumbling onto the woodland floor. She watched as a dark cloaked figure tied Guinevere's hands behind her as though far away, and when her own arms were pulled back viciously, the sudden blackness that sent her into oblivion was a blessed release from the pain.

**A/N Sorry for not replying to any of my lovely reviewers - FFNet doesn't seem to be sending out any alerts at the moment, so I figured that you wouldn't get any replies before I've finished the whole story lol. They were very much appreciated however. Please accept an early update as an apology : )**


	27. Chapter 27

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

Llynya stood against one of the courtyard walls, her chest so tight that she could barely breathe, her hands twisted in her skirts to stop them shaking. Before her the knights were hastily mounting their horses, checking their weapons and waiting for their orders. While most of the people at the fort watched from windows or the surrounding barns, the scene was uncharacteristically silent. Kyrie had raised the alarm half an hour ago, looking for Lucy and finding her bucket discarded by the kitchen door and no sign of her friend. Arthur had searched in vain for his queen, and finding her gone, realised that she had either been snatched or gone after the enemy on her own. Now white faced and unconsciously checking the sword at his side, the king sat aside his prancing stallion, obviously impatient at the time it was taking for his knights to ready themselves.

"Do you think that they are still alive?" A voice whispered from beside her, and turning, Llynya watched Kyrie approach. The girl's eyes were red from crying, and she worried her bottom lip nervously. Guessing correctly that the younger girl blamed herself for not keeping a closer eye on her friend, Llynya took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"They'll find them," she said quietly. Kyrie nodded, but both of them were aware that she had not answered the question.

Tristan swung up onto his horse, and both girls watched as he clattered over to Arthur, ignoring Eadgyth the Woad scout and exchanging a couple of brief words with his commander. He was as silent and inscrutable as ever, but Llynya noted the whiteness of his knuckles as they gripped the reins, the flash of his eyes, and almost feared for those who had taken his lover. Gawain nodded at her as he passed, kissing her cheek but saying nothing before taking his horse from Jols. Goodbyes were bad luck, both of them acknowledged that without discussing it, and giving him a decent attempt at a smile, Llynya prayed to every deity that she could think off to keep him safe. Galahad and Bors were more demonstrative with their partners, kissing them goodbye almost desperately. Letting go of her burly knight, Vanora walked over to Llynya and Kyrie, saying nothing, but taking the dark haired girl's hand. Together they watched the knights clatter out of the courtyard and gallop towards the forest.

* * *

Lucy whimpered and struggled to open her eyes. She was lying on her side, her cheek pressed against what seemed to be leaf litter. Her hands were tied behind her back, the sudden fiery pain in her shoulder leaving her gasping when she tried to twist and raise her head.

"The other is awake." A man's voice came from somewhere close, and blinking as her vision cleared, Lucy watched as a pair of boots strode towards her. Dragged to her knees by her hair, she bit back a scream of pain and watched with watering eyes the man who held her. He was perhaps in his mid-fifties, solidly built with grey hair flecked with auburn. His hands gripped her fiercely, but it was his eyes that sent a chill of pure terror through her. They were empty. Devoid of hatred, devoid of compassion, almost as though the soul behind them had fled.

"Let her go." The voice was hoarse, but Lucy recognised it instantly. With an effort she managed to turn her head enough to see Guinevere. The Woad woman was tied to a dead tree in the centre of a small glade, her hands raised above her head, her clothing removed so that she was clad in little more than her undergarments. Her eyes were fierce and she still kept her feet, but seeing the rivulets of blood flooding down her legs from the broken arrow-shaft in her back, Lucy wondered at how long she could maintain her defiance. "She's nothing to do with this," Guinevere said, struggling for breath. "Let her go."

"I do not take orders from you." A woman walked calmly into Lucy's line of sight. Her hair was a deep auburn, her face fine-boned and striking. Glancing dismissively at Guinevere, she paced over to Lucy and cupped her cheek gently. "Pretty little thing," she said almost kindly. "But pretty little things do not last long in this world."

"Who are you?" Lucy did her best to turn her head away from the woman's touch, but the man held her too firmly to escape it. She could see Guinevere's courage and defiance and did her best to emulate it, but the grind of the arrow shaft against her shoulder blade was making her feel sick with pain, and the edges of her vision were flickering.

"Who am I?" the woman gave a laugh, bending down to meet her eyes. "I am Brigid, girl. Keeper of the sacred fire, Leader of the Ingheaw Andagha, the Daughters of Fire." Brigid glanced at the man who held the woman before her. "Let her go, Hengist. She isn't going anywhere."

The grip on her hair and throat suddenly lessened, and Lucy fell to her knees. Gasping for breath, she looked up at the woman with a mixture of fury and fear. "What do you want with us?"

"Blood." Brigid raised an eyebrow as though the answer should have been obvious. "Her blood in particular," she nodded at Guinevere, "but you'll serve your own purpose." She smiled indulgently at the forest behind her, and for a moment Lucy was confused. "I have mouths to feed after all. Well perhaps not mouths…" Lucy shook her head to clear it, before realising that her eyes were not playing tricks upon her. The shadows in the trees were melting and flowing together, slinking forward in a way that had nothing to do with the passage of the sun. The small glade was swiftly surrounded by dark shapes, sometimes almost looking like human shadows, sometimes like wolves. Below the rustle of the leaves high above they whispered and hissed, circling the people before them. Brigid smiled at Lucy's horrified expression. "Oh don't worry dear, I'll make it quick and fairly painless."

"What are…." Lucy attempted and failed to get to her feet. Glancing over at Guinevere she felt her heart sink. The queen's eyes were half closed, and from the way she was handing from her restraints, she was hardly conscious. "Monsters. That's what they are," she said with an attempt at bravado. "That's what you are - the knights will…"

"The knight's will do nothing," Brigid snarled. Dropping to her knees, she forced Lucy's head up and gripped the arrow shaft in the girl's shoulder, twisting it before yanking it out and tossing it aside. Laughing at the girl's scream, she traced the pattern of her tears and licked her finger. "Who are you to talk of monsters, little girl? You see before you the spirits of the old ones, the true owners of this land. Brought forth to reclaim it for their descendants, brought forth to cleanse it of the cancer of Rome. If you wish to see a true monster then look at her." Shoving Lucy around, she pointed at Guinevere. "Betrayer of her people, a whore who would destroy the old ways, everything pure , so that she can spread her legs for a Roman murderer."

"You're the murderer," Lucy whispered. The world was dipping and spinning, and with a detached certainty, she realised that she was going to die. She was going to be killed by ghosts led by an insane Druidess, and she hadn't even had a chance to tell Tristan goodbye. "You killed a child," she mumbled, the words thick as she tried to speak.

"There are casualties in any war," Brigid said quietly. "When it is over and the old ways restored, people will thank me. We cannot allow the taint of Rome to pollute our history." With a smile that looked almost sorrowful, she stood and nodded to Hengist.

"Kill her."

Lucy found herself pushed to her knees, the sharp bite of a knife against her neck as her head was pulled back. Bracing herself for the final blow, she heard a scream and wasn't sure if it was she or Guinevere crying out.

**A/N Ok, cliffhanger sorry. I promise more very soon - this story is writing itself at the moment, but real life won't let me keep up lol. Still no alerts sigh, it's annoying isn't it? Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - I daren't name you incase the story gets yanked rolls eyes.**


	28. Chapter 28

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

**Warning for violence.**

For a heartbeat Lucy wasn't sure what had happened. Knocked sideways, she fell to her knees, the knife at her throat sliding across it so lightly that it barely broke the skin. The screaming hadn't stopped, and scrambling away wide-eyed, Lucy realised that it wasn't Guinevere screaming, it was Hengist. The big man was stumbling and flailing, and for a sick moment Lucy thought that one of the shadow monsters was attacking. Finally grabbing the beast that screeched and clawed at his face, Hengist threw it sideways, and Lucy realised what had happened. Tristan's hawk managed to correct her downward plummet and wheeled up into the sky with what seemed like a victory cry.

"Isolde," Lucy whispered in wonder. _If Isolde was here then Tristan was close. _Regaining her wits as Hengist stumbled into her and fell heavily to the ground, she rolled away from him, adrenaline and hope giving her strength enough to ignore the pain and look for a means of escape. Brigid screamed with rage, and ran towards her, but Isolde dived down swift and deadly, and the Druidess backed up warily, obviously unsure as to what was going on. Glancing at Hengist, Lucy felt bile rising in her throat and forced it down with a struggle. The big man's face was scored with deep scratches, his eyes bloody leaking things that slid down his cheeks. Blindly he reached out as though to grab her, and she threw herself backwards. Panting, Lucy looked behind her desperately. The shadow ghosts were close - too close, and she dared not retreat further, but Hengist seemed to have heard her and was swinging his huge fists as he crawled forward, obviously determined to follow his orders. Putting her hand down to try and push herself up, she gasped as her palm was cut by something sharp. _The arrow. The arrow that Brigid had torn from her shoulder_. Hengist grabbed her ankle and Lucy screamed in shock as she was yanked fiercely onto her back and dragged towards him, one hand scrabbling for purchase in the dirt, the other desperately trying to reach for the broken arrow. She could hear his harsh breathing as he pulled her inexorably forwards and underneath his body, feel the splatter of his blood on her bare legs. Twisting and throwing herself sideways with the last of her strength, her fingers curled around the arrow shaft, and sweeping her arm back, she stabbed blindly backwards.

There was nothing for a moment - indeed it seemed that time itself stood still. Lucy could feel her heartbeat, the blood singing in her ears, the pain in her shoulder as though it was happening to another Lucy very far way. The iron grip around her ankle loosened, and looking around, she saw why. The remains of the arrow protruded from what was left of Hengist's left eye socket. Horrified and yet unable to look away, she saw his lips work as though struggling to form a name, before sighing and slumping forwards. Knocked back onto the ground and half covered by his heavy body, Lucy struggled to rise, before unconsciousness claimed her.

* * *

"Tristan!" Arthur snarled, yanking his stallion forward and blocking the scout's path, "you stay with us. You obey orders."

Tristan pulled his bay gelding back more viciously than he would ever have done usually, and glared at his commander with unrestrained fury. His chest was so tight that he could barely breathe, his patience tested beyond endurance, and out there was Lucy. Lucy who could not fight, Lucy who depended on him to protect her whether she knew it or not, Lucy who was now a part of him. He had sent Isolde on ahead - the hawk's eyes were sharp and she would recognise the girl whom she now associated with her master. It seemed to have worked; Isolde circled and screched ahead in agitation when they glimpsed her high above the trees, but they were going too slowly, too slowly. Every moment wasted was a moment that…

"They have Guinevere." Arthur's voice was low and almost expressionless, but his green eyes burned with pain. He didn't say anything else, but when he turned his stallion, Tristan tucked his gelding behind him and made no other attempt to overtake. Arthur had as much to lose as he did, and although it may chafe unbearably, galloping into battle thoughtlessly would not end well for any of them. The rest of the knights followed, silent and grim, several Woads among them. For once it did not seem strange riding together. Merlin rode his Connemarra pony a little behind Arthur, and while his expression was fierce, it was clear that he deferred to the Roman commander's decisions.

A sudden scream echoed through the silent woodland, startling the horses and sending the knights and Woads alike to reach for their weapons, but it was Tristan who recognised the voice.

"Lucy," he whispered. Kicking his horse into a gallop, he ignored Arthur's frantic words that disappeared in the wind as he raced past him, and headed towards the sound of the scream.

Arthur took one moment to try and reassemble order, but giving a look at Merlin, he inwardly agreed as the old man nodded towards the direction Tristan had headed towards.

"Knights!" Unsheathing Excalibur and wheeling his horse around, he set off at a gallop, the forest echoing with the sing of swords against scabbards and the thunder of hoof beats as both the knights and Woads raced towards battle.

Urging his horse faster, Tristan was unseated and very nearly thrown when his horse slid to a halt, its hind hooves slicing into the earth, its forelegs pawing at the air as it struggled to turn. Wrestling to keep it under control, the scout watched incredulously as several shadows slipped from between the trees. Not humans these things, nor wolves, although their shapes bore echoes of both. They seemed ghostlike and indistinct, and swiftly notching and releasing an arrow, the scout watched in disbelief as it passed through its quarry and embedded itself in a tree behind it.

"Tristan!" Arthur's voice was angry as he pulled up his grey, but noticing the shadow creatures and realising that here was proof of Lucy and Kyries' "ghosties", he swore and ordered his knight to fall back.

"We need Merlin."

Tristan fought to hold his horse and glanced at Arthur. Whether he liked it or not the Roman was right.

As though he had heard the summons, the leader of the Woads cantered up, his pony seemingly not as frightened as those of the knights' who fought with all their might to bolt back to Hadrian's wall. Swinging off the grey's back with a grace that belied his age, he ignored Arthur and Tristan and walked towards the creatures that paced restlessly across the path.

"Brigid!" he shouted angrily. "Are you really so afraid to face me?"

For a moment the shadow creatures seemed to swell and darken with rage, their shapes twisting into monstrous shapes, the eerie whispering escalating into a cacophony of snarls and hisses. Without warning they swept back, clearing the path and flooding through the trees like poison, surrounding the knights. Panicking, Gawain's horse gave a violent twisting buck, throwing the blonde knight to the ground and bolting back down the path. It had taken only a few paces before the darkness had swallowed it. An almost human scream echoed through the trees before the unmistakable sound of tearing flesh signalled the end of the horse's life.

Brigid watched all this without blinking. Her posture was proud, her shoulders squared. Giving a slightly sardonic smile to Merlin, she nodded to him.

"Merlin." She looked him up and down appraisingly. "You have grown old."

"And you have lost your mind," he replied tightly. "Don't do this Brigid, you have no idea of the power that you are trying to control."

She laughed a little and narrowed her eyes. Glancing at Tristan, Arthur shook his head when his scout moved his head in a silent request to attack. He had no doubt that Tristan could end the woman's life before she knew what was happening, but Brigid controlled the creatures that surrounded them. If she was dead then whom, if anyone, would they obey?

"Power?" Brigid took a step closer to her former mentor and smiled. "You had power once, Merlin. You were once what I aspired to be. " Reaching out, she made to touch the old man's face before thinking better of it. "You took me into your bed but not your confidence. You turned me away. I who was your greatest student, I who have far surpassed your skill."

"There was a reason I threw you from my bed, Brigid." Merlin walked forward, and although she shook her head as though to clear it, the Druidess backed away, the shadows melting beside her, until the glade where the sacrifices were to have taken place was exposed.

Arthur snarled something and slid from his horse, attempting to go to Guinevere, but this time it was Tristan who stopped the reckless attack by grabbing his commander's arm.

"Wait," he whispered. "Now is not the time." He could see the blood on the leaves, the queen strung up and bleeding, and with a twist of his heart, the gleam of golden hair beneath a tangle of bodies, but shoving all emotion away, he let himself revert to the deadly weapon that had been honed by years of harsh Roman service. Holding tight to Arthur, he watched as Merlin approached Brigid.

"You had not the heart for true magic, true power," Merlin said quietly. Beside him the shadow creatures shifted and hissed, but he paid them no mind. Stepping towards the red-haired woman, he looked at her with something akin to pity. "Don't you see, Brigid? What is lost can never be regained. Your pride, your greed, sealed your fate a long time ago. I wish I could have saved you, for that I am truly sorry."

Brigid looked at her former lover in utter disbelief. "_You_ pity _me_?" She laughed and gestured behind her. "I have your daughter, I have the spirits of those that your alliance betrayed. The _right_," she almost snarled the last word, "to take back what is mine, what belongs to Briton." Sliding a slender knife from her belt, she smiled. "This is for Guinevere." Brigid looked contemptuously at the Woad woman tied to the tree. Her skin was ashen and her back and legs drenched with blood. "Hardly worth bothering with the sacrifice; she's half dead anyway, but it makes things that much quicker. My followers will make sure that no-one will leave here alive, but I'll give you the privilege of watching the little bitch die, along with the knowledge that her blood will bring about both the resurrection of our lost warriors and the destruction of our country." With a flick of her wrist, the shadow creatures moved closer to the knights and Woads, cutting Arthur, Merlin and Tristan away from them and obviously posed to attack.

Merlin watched fearlessly as the spirits moved closer. "Goodbye, my beloved daughter," he whispered with a soft smile before looking hard at Arthur. "Trust her," he said fiercely. Rushing forwards, he grabbed Brigid's hand and shoved the knife she held into his chest.

The enchantress was too shocked to do anything for a moment. Still holding onto the knife, she was pulled down as Merlin crumpled to the ground. Behind them a harsh cough and cry of confusion echoed through the trees, and Guinevere raised her head, gasping for breath. The arrow embedded in her back slid from her skin, and with a wail of pain and horror, she watched as it fell to the ground, the skin it had pierced knitting itself together before her eyes.

"Guinevere!" Arthur watched his love struggle to find her feet, and felt his heart jolt when she met his gaze. She seemed to take in the situation quickly, and with a nod towards the ropes that held her hands above her head, she screamed out desperately.

"Break them Arthur, I know how to stop her."

Tristan made to notch an arrow, but found himself pinned to the ground before he had time to draw back his bow. The shadow creature was almost translucent but hideously strong, and he could do nothing but struggle to breathe beneath its weight. From the corner of his eye, Arthur saw another creature approach, and did the only thing that he could, praying to his God with all his heart that his aim would be true. Hurling Excalibur at Guinevere, he heard but did not see the impact as the blade slammed home.

Guinevere watched the flash of steel as it cartwheeled towards her and clenched her eyes shut; she could not have flinched away if she had wanted to. With a harsh thud it pierced the tree and her arms dropped to her sides, the restraints severed. Falling to her knees, she looked up through the tangle of her hair and felt the familiar rush of battle sharpen her instincts and survey the scene without emotion. Brigid was still untangling herself from her father, obviously unaware that her prisoner was free, the knights, Arthur, lost beneath shifting shadows. Scrambling forward, Guinevere reached for the bow and quiver that Brigid had taken from her and discarded as being of little interest. Tipping the tooled leather pouch onto the floor with trembling hands, she reached for the little bundle of cloth that rested at the bottom and unwrapped it as swiftly as she could. The torque that Githa had given her seemed to hum and tremble in her hands, the metal twisting like a live thing beneath her fingers. Well aware that she had no real knowledge of the powers of the Iodhan Moran, but following something blood deep and more powerful than instinct, Guinevere snatched an arrow from the ground and clenched her fist around the torque, picking up her bow as she did so. The necklace shimmered and writhed against the arrow shaft, before sliding along the wood, covering it in a bight wash of gold and silver light. Guinevere notched the arrow and released it before the light reached her fingers, her heart thundering in her chest . Slumping to the ground, she watched as it hit Brigid in the throat.

For a moment nothing happened. Brigid looked at her wide-eyed before reaching for the arrow, meaning to take it out. Beside her the shadow creatures slid forward snarling, waiting for orders, waiting to kill.

"Don't you know, girl?" Brigid's voice was hoarse, but she was obviously not incapacitated by the wound. "You can't kill…" Her eyes suddenly grew wide, her voice cut off sharply. The silver arrow flowed and shimmered, sliding like molten metal around the Druidess's neck. Brigid clawed at it desperately, but within moments she was being choked by the silver collar. Frantically she tried to rid herself of it, tendons straining in her neck, her eyes bulging as the Iodhan Moran constricted around her throat, but the torque was unbending and only tightened further.

Guinevere watched the woman struggle with a mixture of horror and satisfaction, before turning her attention to the shadows that cloaked Arthur and his followers to her gaze. She didn't know what to do next - if the spirits Brigid had conjured did not die with her, then she herself would die, and die gladly if it meant living without Arthur. The shadows darkened and swelled, shifting and snarling, until they rushed together in the form of what might have been a wolf had it been described by a blind boy fed on nightmares. It swept towards the fallen enchantress, and with a sudden deafening hurricane of noise and darkness, was gone. Knocked backwards, Guinevere raised herself up onto her elbows. The shadows were gone, Arthur and Tristan struggling to their feet even as the men behind them called out in confusion and worry. As the leaves finally settled and the wind dispersed, she watched as a simple silver and gold torque fell to the ground and bounced once, before settling onto the leaves.

**A/N; Ok, so Tris didn't exactly rescue Lucy - but his hawk did, does that count? I hope that this chapter makes up for last chapter's cliffhanger (please don't hurt me people - I have a cat to support and several library books that need returning: ) The next one will be very much a hurt/comfort chappy which I must admit to enjoy reading and writing. Alerts are sort of working at the moment - Ffnet kindly informed me that I'd submitted chapter 26 today, so that's useful rolls eyes. I will try and reply to reviews - I do appreciate them and feel bad that I haven't been able to do so. In the meantime, thanks so much for the wonderful feedback, alerts and favourites. I am very flattered and appreciate it very much. **


	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: nothing that you recognise belongs to me.**

Lucy coughed and winced as she struggled back to consciousness, twisting away from the hands upon her shoulders.

"Lucy?" The voice was low, worried and blessedly familiar. Opening her eyes, she grimaced at the sudden flare of light and pressed her head into the chest of the man before her. He held her tightly, one hand caressing her lower back, the other tangled in her hair. Lucy didn't do much but struggle to breathe for several long moments. Hengist was dead, Brigid was gone, although from the little she had seen and heard, she wasn't sure how. Her head ached, her shoulder screamed with pain, and she was dimly aware of the blood that covered her clothes and skin, the adrenaline that had kept her going fading into nothing. Giving a hitching sob, she abandoned any attempt at bravery and cried into Tristan's shoulder. The scout didn't say anything, but tearing a piece of ragged cloth from the hem of Lucy's dress, he carefully tied it around her shoulder as a makeshift bandage. He whispered nonsense words to her as she cried against him, the previous panic and fear in him subsiding until he felt empty and quiet. Behind them Guinevere wailed in grief over her father's body, her cries smothered when Arthur took her into his arms, the knights and Woads confused and looking for orders that did not come.

Tristan took little notice, and barely looked up at Galahad when he took his horse from him. Lucy was curled against him trembling , her fingers fierce and tight, entangled in his hauberk. Brigid was slain, the ghosts gone. There was nothing to do but bury the dead and tend to the living. Placing the dishevelled blonde girl on to his horse's saddle, Tristan swung up behind her and set off back to Hadrians wall.

Neither of them spoke during the short ride. There was nothing to say, and anything worth expressing was done so in the twist of fingers into a ruined dress, pale hair falling over closed eyes, breath harsh in the silence with the unspoken knowledge of what might have been. Tristan gave his horse to Jols without explanation, the man nodding and leading the bay to its stall with a relief borne of the knowledge that the scout would not have left his brothers if the enemy was undefeated.

"It's alright." Laying Lucy onto his bed, Tristan sat beside her, brushing her tangled hair away from her face. "You're safe."

The girl beside him gave a faint smile, curling around his back and laying her head upon his lap. They both jumped at the soft knock on the door, but only Lucy smiled when Llynya and Kyrie entered the chamber, the former carrying a jug of warmed water, the other with a couple of wash cloths and blankets. They put their burdens down without saying anything, and with a last smile and wave, were gone almost as quickly as they had arrived. Lucy let Tristan undress her, wriggling out of her ruined clothing and letting him wash away the dirt and blood. She didn't say anything and neither did he, but when he had finished she laid down beneath the blankets, one hand entangled in his, and let exhaustion claim her without fear. Later she awoke when Brennus arrived to stitch up her wound, the old healer gruff and scolding her for being too impulsive for her own good. She gave an attempt at a smile and nodded at his words, but the herbal tea he had given her for the pain was making her head muzzy and her eyelids droop. When he left she lay quietly, Tristan's calloused hand stroking the bare skin of her ribcage, his eyes soft as he watched her.

"What happened to not running off alone?" He asked gently.

"I didn't promise." Squinting, Lucy reached for his hand and held it against the valley between her breasts, trying to bring him closer. "I said..." Her eyes narrowed as her fuzzy mind ran through the events of the early evening and drew a blank. "I probably said something very clever," she mumbled. "Anyway it worked out for the best. The ghosts are gone, you don't have to worry about me any more."

Tristan chuckled, a strange unfamiliar sound that had the girl beside him looking up in amazement.

"Not worry about you?" He shook his head, tangled hair and braids falling over his high cheekbones. "Lucy, you could find trouble in an empty room. I think it best that you stay with me, let me take care of you."

Lucy regarded him with sleepy eyes. "People will talk. You've already got a pet, you've got Isolde."

"I don't want a pet, I want a wife." Lucy was obviously falling asleep from a combination of fatigue and the effects of Brennus' tea, but Tristan was determined to get a promise from her before she could have second thoughts. "I'm asking you to marry me, Lucy."

"Oh." Peering through her eyelashes, Lucy regarded the scout with as much concentration that she could muster. "It's a good job that I love you, most people don't propose when the girl is drugged up to the eyeballs." Sighing, she shifted closer to him and closed her eyes. "Yes please," she whispered before falling asleep.

When Galahad and Kyrie softly opened the door to Tristan's chambers, they were supprised to see the normally restless scout fast asleep, Lucy's blonde head curled against his thigh, Isolde the hawk gazing at the pair from the open window as though irritated that no food was forthcoming. Tugging the young knight backwards and closing the door quietly, Kyrie put her finger to her lips and let Galahad lead her to his room

* * *

Guinevere slid down from Arthur's horse and landed upon legs that were not quite steady. The stallion nudged her, and she grabbed the cheek piece of its bride to keep from falling over. Arthur was beside her, swiftly, his big solid body lending her strength, and grabbing his hand, she found the courage to watch as Eadgth dismounted. The Woad scout pulled Merlin's body from his horse as gently as he could, several men moving forward to help him. In death the magician seemed smaller somehow, robbed of his vitality he looked like the aging man that he had truly been.

Letting go of Arthur, Guinevere walked over to her father's body. Placing a last kiss upon his forehead, she moved away and let Aefel, one of Merlin's most respected warriors, pick up the body and take it back to the Woad encampment. Both Woads and Knights watched in silence as the big man walked away with his burden held reverently in his arms, a quiet procession of people following him into the woods. Guinevere watched them go. Tomorrow Merlin would be buried in the forest that had been his home and heart, given back to the soil that he had fought to keep safe from both Saxons and Romans. When the dusk fell, she would sit by his body until the sun rose, as was their custom, but until then the body had to be prepared, and that was a ritual that fell to Anya, the eldest woman of their tribe.

"Guinevere?" Arthur's voice was soft as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and she fought back the urge to cry. Covering his hand with one of hers, she closed her eyes.

"I should change my clothing," she said quietly. It was the first thing that she could think of to serve as an excuse to leave the courtyard: there were too many people here, too many familiar faces that she could not abide bearing witness to the tears that threatened to fall. "I…" Feeling his young wife tremble, Arthur swung Guinevere into his arms and set off for their quarters. The knights could do with out him for a while, but his wife could not. Nodding at Lancelot to indicate that he was in charge, he carried his queen as slender and seemingly fragile as glass into the cool haven of their bedroom. He let her cry for a while, giving silent comfort as her sobs subsided into sniffles and wiping her face when she finally pulled back a little. Swollen eyed and red cheeked, she looked a lot like she had when he rescued her from Marius' dungeon . Sniffing, she wiped her nose with the back of her hand, a childish gesture that for once betrayed her age.

"He died for me," she said quietly. "I was stupid, I shouldn't have gone after them. I…" Her voice trailed away. "Brigid should have killed me instead."

"Don't say that, " Arthur said fiercely. "Your father loved you, he died loving you, and had you died tonight I would have died too." Cupping her cheek, he watched as she gave a watery smile.

"My Arthur. My love. Are you not afraid?" Dropping her head, she fingered the hole in her dress where the arrow had pierced her back. The material was stiff with dried blood, but the skin beneath was unmarked. "What would your God make of this?"

"If there is magic then that is His will," Arthur said quietly. "If you are safe and unharmed and back at my side then I thank him for it with all my heart. " Brushing a tangled lock of Guinevere's hair from her face, he gave her a tender smile. "You were right before when you told me that your ways are different from mine, but there is room for us both. Brigid tried to force her beliefs on others and look what happened. I will not make the same mistake."

"Ever the peacemaker." Guinevere smiled softly and ran her fingers over the faint stubble on his chin. "I do not hold one tenth of my father's power, I cannot undo the sacrifice that he made, but I can follow his will, I can follow my heart." Kissing Arthur softly, she wound herself around him and buried her face in his dark curls. "We will give both our people a country of tolerance and hope."

Arthur smiled and revelled in the feel of her. When she rested her forehead against his, a sad smile gracing her face, he chuckled at her next words.

"Even if I have to kill the lot of them myself to keep the peace."

**A/N: thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter. One more chapter to go !**


	30. Chapter 30

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

Bors and Lancelot leant against the stable wall and idly watched as the final preparations for Merlin's funeral were completed. It was rumoured that more than five hundred Woads of various tribes would attend, and the meadow that flanked Hadrian's wall had been chosen as the site in which the old magician's pyre would be built. Watching as both Woads and villagers ran about, working together to make sure that there would be enough food for the visitors and space enough for the extra horses, both Knights inwardly wondered at the harmony between the different people that Arthur had promised and yet had seemed unattainable only a few months ago.

"That's two coins you owe me," Bors told Lancelot smugly. "Both of 'em will be married by the end of the month."

The dark-haired knight "harrumphed" in annoyance and nodded towards Galahad. "He hasn't proposed yet, until he does all wagers still stand."

Bors laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder with a rough hand, almost knocking the smaller man backwards. "aint you got eyes Lance? Look at them!"

Lancelot did so, and reluctantly pulled out a couple of coins from his pocket. Galahad was leaning against the stable wall, Kyrie perched on a stack of hay bales next to him. Despite the hustle and bustle around them they had eyes only for each other, and when Kyrie leant down to whisper something into the young knight's ear, her face alight with happiness, Lancelot rolled his eyes and shoved the coins into Bors's hand.

"You win," he muttered. "The pup's smitten, the scout is tamed, the way things are going I'm going to be the only bachelor left in this bloody country."

"Worse things in life than settling down," the big knight said, glancing fondly at Vanora, red faced and exasperated at the far end of the courtyard as she tried to disentangle two of her brawling children.

Lancelot took in the scene and raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Evidently," he said dryly. "I notice that you haven't made an honest woman of the revered Vanora however."

Bors shifted uncomfortably. "I've tried. Every time we end up arguing before I get that far. 'Might have another go tonight."

"Perhaps she would prefer a man with more refinement," Lancelot said with a smirk. "Come to think of it your youngest boy has the prettiest brown eyes, a lot like mine…"

Bors grinned, not at all insulted by the implication. "My Vanora needs a real man, she'd make mincemeat of you if you tried anything. The boy has Vanora's eyes thank the gods, what's below the waist though.." he gave a wicked grin. "That's proof enough of who fathered him."

Lancelot laughed despite himself. "If you say so my friend, if you say so."

* * *

"So many people." Lucy watched wide eyed as streams of Woads, painted as though for battle, lined up at the edge of the forest. Merlin's body rested atop a pyre in the meadow, and one by one, the leaders of each tribe moved forward to pay their respects to the legendary magician. "Only a few months ago I would be running to the hills at the sight of so many Woads."

Tristan grunted and ran a protective hand over her hair without thinking. "Given what I know of you Lucy, you'd have probably tried to kill them all with your pocket knife."

"Not funny." Lucy wrinkled her nose and nestled closer to the scout. They were both sat on the sweet smelling meadow grass, their backs resting against Hadrian's wall, waiting for the funeral ceremony to begin. Glancing up, she smiled and brushed her lips over the tattoo that marked Tristan's cheekbone. "I have put an end to my fighting days, it ruins my clothes and hurts too much."

"I'm glad to hear it," Tristan growled. "There is no need for you to fight - you have protection."

"I know." Resting her head against the cool stone, Lucy closed her eyes and smiled as the sunshine warmed her face. "Isolde will look after me." Opening one eye, she giggled as Tristan sighed in irritation. He couldn't fool her anymore: there was a half smile twisting the corners of his mouth, and when the aforementioned hawk swooped down, obviously realising that her name had been taken in vain, the scout addressed her with mock seriousness.

"Isolde, you have saved my Lucy's life, so it would appear that you have both a master and a mistress now. Treat her kindly." Isolde took no notice of his words, her attention caught by the piece of dried meat that she had been given. Watching the pretty blonde girl with an unblinking golden eye, she let her stroke the pale feathers of her breast before sweeping back up into the sky. Tristan did not need her to keep him company, and since there was no more food on offer she would seek out her own entertainment.

"See, she knows who's in charge," Lucy said with a grin. "Us girls must stick together."

"She knows who is in charge of the kitchen," Tristan corrected. "Unlike the rest of the fort she actually enjoys your cooking."

"My cooking is fine," Lucy said with dignity. "It's not my fault that you and everyone else don't appreciate it. I made stew the other day and everyone said it was really tasty. I'm going to try making bread next."

Tristan pulled the girl next to him close and kissed her silky head. Lucy made him smile, and even now the expression was a little strange on his face. She made him worry, made him infuriated, and he thanked all the half forgotten gods that he remembered for bringing him to her. At night she was soft skin and willing kisses, by day stubborn, bright eyed and willing to see the see the best in people that had long given up on themselves. If he didn't tell her that Kyrie had tipped away her inedible stew and replaced it with her own, well that didn't matter. He could put up with rock hard bread and burnt meat if it meant that he could see the light in her blue eyes when she dealt out her carefully, if ineptly cooked meal, and hear her singing tunelessly as she cleaned the bowls.

"I'll look forward to it." Resting his chin upon her head, he followed the curve of her shoulder down to her hand and entangled his fingers in hers. Lucy squeezed them gently and snuggled closer to him. For a day that was filled with sorrow she felt a little strange at feeling so content, but glancing sideways she found some of her fears allayed. Llynya and Gawain had entered the meadow, the blond knight shining in the spring sunshine, his lady beautiful and serene as she disentangled her baby's hand from his hair. Gawain said something to her, both laughed, and Lucy smiled in response. They looked like a tapestry she had once seen depicting a family in a dream world, glowing, golden and incandescently happy. They had been married the day before, Gawain practically dragging Llynya to the priest as though frightened that something might happen to her before they were legally wed. Llynya had taken it in good part, managing to look beautiful and serene next to the knight who twice threatened the priest with his axe when he thought he was taking too long. Now they sat down, waiting for Arthur and Guinevere, just one of the many families that had settled down in the grass. Villagers and those who had left Roman service, Knights, Woads and those people who had no alliance but came to pay their respects both to Merlin and the new king.

Lucy watched as Arthur and Guinevere approached the pyre, the people that had been standing dropping to their knees in respect. The queen put a torch to the kindling, setting her father's final resting place ablaze, a group of archers firing two dozen fiery arrows towards the setting sun . The arrows shot through the darkening sky like comets, almost seeming to light the sky. Glancing up at Tristan, Lucy watched as the scout's dark eyes gleamed gold in the firelight and rested their tangled hands onto her belly. Tomorrow she would tell him, tomorrow but not today. Biting her lip in joy at the secret that was even now growing within her, she let Tristan pull her closer and watched with sorrow and wonder as the sparks from Merlin's pyre danced into the sky.

**The End**

**A/n. Well this fic is three times longer and with a completely different plot than I intended, but finally it is done. Thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone who stuck with this rather long story and pointed out my mistakes, gave me encouragement and generally kept me going. I hope that you had half as much fun reading it as I did writing it. In answer to a couple of questions: If I write another KA fic then it will be a sequel to this (I'm too involved with Lynya, Lucy and Kyrie to write anymore oc's), but I'm having a go at some original fiction - wish me luck, I'm going to need it lol.**

**Best wishes and happy writing (to the many talented writers on here) and happy reading (to the readers who are kind enough to give the authors encouragement to keep writing).**

**Homeric X**


	31. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

**A little one-shot that doesn't really make sense if you haven't read "Faithless" so that's why I've put it on the end of the story. Set a bit before "Fragile." Tris/Lucy fluff – M for a reason, but hey it's christmas so why not ;)**

_Isolde had always chosen her own path in life._

_Tristan had known that from the first time he had found her in the forest as a fledgling, fed her a dead mouse that one of the stable cats had left in the courtyard, and spent the rest of the afternoon nursing a a finger pecked almost to the bone by her sharp beak._

_Nonetheless he had made a makeshift nest out of a bucket he suspended from the rafters of the stable and made sure to feed the young hawk every morning and evening. His fellow knights still young, untrained and hiding their fear behind false bravado had not understood. Their Roman commanders had punishments enough for disobedience real or imagined – to keep a wild bird as a pet in the stables that held some of the finest bred horseflesh in Briton was madness they had told him. The only birds permitted at the Wall were the sleek grey falcons that a few high ranked Romans used for hunting. Peregrines who were content to sit hooded and well fed in warm quarters that were far more comfortable than those shared by their human counterparts. After all, unlike a Sarmatian scout a falcon could not be threatened with a whip or retribution to its kinsmen if it chose not to return to its master. Comfort was the only incentive for the indolent creatures to return home._

_Tristan had listened to his comrades' worries, acknowledged their arguments, and carried on feeding his hawk nonetheless._

_Over the weeks Isolde had grown, shook her wings out, screeched imperiously at the stable boys who had adopted her as both a pet and a tiny rebellion against Rome, and one spring evening when Tristan was exhausted from training and slumped against the hay barn in a rare moment of solitude, took her first flight._

_As first flights went it wasn't particularly spectacular. She flapped a lot, dipped dangerously low into the stable holding a notoriously bad tempered gelding, before righting herself and sailing up towards the rafters. She was a fast learner, however. It didn't take long before she was hunting for herself, and on the day she finally swept out of the barn door towards the forest, Tristan watched her go with a smile and an envy so overwhelming that it was hard to breathe._

_The next morning she was back. Clicking her beak in irritation from the rafters when it was clear that her scout had not had the decency to collect one of the dead mice the cats had caught the night before and deposited by the mounting block._

"_Get it yourself," he had grumbled, even going as far as throwing a handful of straw at the bird who merely looked at him in affront and carried on making such a racket that he'd eventually given in and chucked one of the half chewed rodents at her. She had caught it gracefully, swallowed it, tucked her head under her wing and ignored him for the rest of the day._

_So much for freedom. Isolde – and really he should never have named the bird – if he'd had just kept her as "bird" or "bloody shut up you feathery bitch" she might have given up on him, or he her._

_Instead she used her freedom when it suited her, his food and shelter when she wanted it, and became almost one of his senses when he scouted. If danger was near she warned him, if there was game nearby she circled silent and intent until Tristan gave her a signal or brought it down himself, and when the weather changed for the worse she harried his poor gelding until they turned back to shelter._

_Yes, Isolde was ever her own mistress._

_Strange then that he hadn't learned his lesson when it came to giving his heart to stubborn females..._

Tristan watched his hawk from the comfort of his bed, disinclined to get up and knowing that Isolde must have already eaten or she would have woken half the people at the Wall by now. Perched on the windowsill her feathers gleamed russet and gold in the dawn light, her wing raising in a graceful arch as she preened an errant feather on her breast. She glanced at him, but made no move to fly over to the bedpost she had taken to perching on. Instead, Tristan watched with no little surprise when she gave a shrill cry and moved over to make room for the bird that swooped in and perched beside her. The hawk ruffled his feathers and looked warily at the man watching him, only to give a screech of indignation when Isolde pecked him sharply on the neck.

"That's fast work." The warm weight snuggled against him rolled over, and Tristan smiled as Lucy emerged from her cocoon of bedcovers. "She's got him henpecked in what, one morning?" Yawning widely, she gave a sleepy grin when the scout kissed her on the forehead. "Took me ages to sort you out, wonder what her secret is."

"Dead rats probably." Running long fingers across Lucy's shoulder he slipped down and cupped one full breast. "Lucky for me you had much more enticing ways of bending me to your will."

Lucy sighed as his hand slid lower down over the soft swell of her belly before grabbing his wrist.

"None of that until later – I'm probably late for work already." Seeing Tristan's golden eyes darken, she sat up and kicked her legs over the side of the bed. "And none of this no working while I'm with child nonsense either. Not unless you want me to take Isolde's advice and make you rat stew."

_Would anyone actually notice if Lucy made the stew out of Rat rather than venison? _Tristan wondered. _It would probably be inedible whatever went into it anyway._ Rolling onto his side he watched as the pretty blonde huffed her hair out of her eyes and gathered up the clothing that had been tossed haphazardly around the bedchamber the previous evening.

"You take Isolde's advice when it comes to matters of the heart?" He asked, knowing that it would irritate her. " What happened to the tradition of women obeying their men?" Watching Lucy wriggle out of her nightshift he was glad that he hadn't had time to put his breeches on yet. The morning sun gilded her pale skin and turned her hair to spun gold. When she bent down to pick up her undershift, her profile made his heart constrict and he barely suppressed a groan. Although he could have sworn that he hadn't made a sound, she glanced at him and after a second of narrow eyed appraisal gave a smile of such smug self satisfaction that Tristan would have crossed the room in two steps and tossed her on the bed if it wouldn't have given away both his almost painful state of arousal and the acknowledgement that he wasn't entirely in control.

Lucy gave him a thoughtful look and very slowly smoothed the thin cotton shift down over her body. Padding over to the windowsill, she touched Isolde's silky head and nodded at the male hawk which eyed her with distrust. "Isolde talks more sense than that obeying nonsense. She doesn't obey you and neither do I."

"Too bloody right," Tristan muttered. "I seem to spend half my time dragging one or both of you out of danger." He watched as both the birds flew of with a rustle of feathers, and tried not to get too distracted by the fact that with the light behind her, Lucy's shift was rendered almost transparent.

"Liar." Lucy lifted her arms and untied the rough plait that kept her hair out of the way while she slept. Shaking it out so that it fell in a tousled curtain around her shoulders, the mischievous glint in her eyes left no question as to her knowledge of the effect she was having upon him.

"Lucy.." Tristan tried to make it a request rather than a plea and hoped there was no-one passing outside to hear how miserably he had failed at doing so.

Lucy's full mouth quirked in a smile as she bent down and picked up a tail feather that Isolde had dislodged while preening. "I healed you when you were dying." Walking over to the bed, she tapped the prone scout on the nose with it. "Isolde helped save me when I was attacked. We don't belong _to _you, we belong _with _you." Wriggling onto the bed, she straddled his hips, trapping his arousal against her own heat. Looking down at the man beneath her, tense, every muscle coiled, she smiled and using the feather traced a line from his brow, down his nose, across his lips and then over his chin before leaning down to kiss him deeply. Rocking her hips gently, she broke the kiss when he groaned, his hands sliding underneath her shift and gripping her bottom to press her closer.

"'s okay, I've got you." Raising up on her knees she shoved the sheet back down onto the floor and sank down onto his arousal, biting her lip as she felt the familiar heat of him stretch her, her inner muscles spasm as she pressed her aching clit against him.

"_Oh fuck.." _Tristan tossed her over on her back before he realised what he was doing._ Too easy.. Too easy to lose control... _Withdrawing, he tucked her against his side, coaxing her to orgasm with his fingers and gently biting her shoulder when she stiffened and cried out in pleasure. For a moment he let her rest, feeling her inner walls spasm around the two fingers buried deeply within her, the soft rise and fall of her ribs brushing against the arm holding her to him.

"Tris.." The words were mumbled, and the scout had to withdraw his hand from her sheath and prop himself up on one arm to get close enough to hear her properly. Wriggling onto her back, Lucy gazed up at him with glazed blue eyes. "If I told you to shag me senseless then would you obey me?"

"Do I have a choice?" Tristan was saved from any further argument by Lucy dragging his head down to hers, shifting her hips and making him grateful for the fact that neither Roman poets nor sculptors knew of her, for beautiful, at least in his eyes, as she might be, he had no desire to share her with the rest of the world. "Mine," he whispered raggedly, pulling away from her lips and watching as her eyes fluttered closed.

"Mine," Lucy echoed, holding him close as Tristan found his own release.

Afterwards, sated and half asleep, it took the scout a moment to realise that the woman beside him had spoken.

"See?" Lucy's lips were swollen from his kisses, her eyes soft as she looked up at him. "I come to you 'cause I want to. Bet you.." She looked around, her eyes alighting on the feather that was squashed underneath the tangled blankets and tugged it free. "This feather that Isolde comes back when she's had her fun."

"And when you've had yours?" Tristan curved an arm around Lucy's back and kissed her belly, sighing as she ran gentle fingers through his hair.

"Fun's for young girls and hawks who are too pretty for their own good. We've got something much better. Anyway, come autumn we'll have bigger things to worry about." Lucy gave a smile and traced the faint bumps of his spine down to his hip, careful to avoid the scars that marred the smooth skin. "But you'll still be mine, and I'll still be yours, and when our babe comes I don't think either of us are going anywhere, do you?"

Tristan rested his hand upon Lucy's belly and breathed in the scent of her hair. Their child was too small to feel yet, but the braid that rested against Lucy's shoulder was answer enough. When she had agreed to marry him he had plaited a lock of her hair with his and done the same for her. Not many of his brothers had noticed and those that had knew better than to comment upon it, but Lucy knew what the strands of gold in his dark hair meant, just as every man in the Tavern knew that the little plait behind her left ear was a warning to prospective suitors rather than vanity.

"I don't know, we might need a bit more room." Tristan gave a quick appraisal of the modest room that Arthur had allocated him. "Especially if Isolde turns up with half a dozen chicks."

"She'd feed our offspring to her babies," Lucy murmured. "Not that I don't love her, but maybe keep people and hawk nurseries separate."

"Wise words." Tristan watched as Lucy wriggled out of his embrace and gave herself a perfunctory scrub with the wash cloth in the corner of their room, stifling a smile as she swore under her breath at the coldness of the water in basin. She dressed herself with a swift economy of movement that made him itch to undress her once again, and dodged backwards after giving him a kiss on the cheek, anticipating his attempt to grab her.

"Stay," she chided. "Get some sleep, you've been on patrol all week. I'll bring you something back from the tavern later." Glancing at the open window, Lucy smiled when she saw the faint specks of black against the morning sky. "If you're lucky then Isolde and her friend might even bring you a dead mouse to keep you going in the meantime."

Tristan yawned sleepily. "I managed to survive without you both before I'll have you know."

Lucy shrugged and opened the door. "'course you did, but you were piss poor at living until you got us, so be nice." Giving a quick smile and a wink, Lucy shut the door behind her, and Tristan flopped back down upon the bed. From his position he could see Isolde riding the warm air currents, circling higher and higher above the wall until she almost disappeared.

_She'd be back though, _he thought to himself, _and so would Lucy. Strange how after spending so many years fighting against his captors and the ties that bound him, true freedom came from knowing and revelling in the fact that he was well and truly caught._


End file.
